


Loons Opposite the Bay

by LadyLisa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Coming of Age, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Firsts, Historical Hetalia, Jealousy, M/M, Personal Growth, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24295615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLisa/pseuds/LadyLisa
Summary: During the summer of 1929, Lovino Vargas meets the new employee at a local bookstore, Antonio Fernández Carriedo.
Relationships: South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 65
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

Lovino adjusted himself against the low dune he was propped against, drawing his cigarette from his lips and blowing a stream of smoke towards the blue sky. The sweet-watered lake lapped at the shoreline, webs of afternoon sun falling through the little ripples onto the rocks. The breeze that stirred the surface made the grating dune grass rustle behind him, and it brushed his shoulder. It smelled like Queen Anne’s Lace and cedar, bitter and sharp. 

Lovino tipped his head back and took a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes as the summer sun fell warm and clean on his face.

He put his cigarette back in his mouth and put his hands on his stomach, flicking it up and down with his tongue as he squinted at the clouds coming in from the west. He could feel the low rise and fall of his breath underneath his threaded fingers. His hair was dotted with sand and his skin was hot with the sun and he was unquestionably happy. He would have laid there all day if his father hadn’t called his name from the driftwood path behind him. 

Lovino sat up. Romulus was gesturing to him, and he got to his feet, picking his shoes up from the ground and walking across the path to him. It was brushed over with sand, and the dunegrass brushed his legs as he walked. 

“What?” Lovino asked. 

“Aldrich’s got my order. Gilbert will come by to drop it off soon, but I’ve got a meeting. Can you help him unload it?” Lovino sighed but nodded, following his father back up to their cottage. 

“Alright, Papa,” he said. He flicked his cigarette onto the gravel, watching the ash settle on the little stones. 

“Thank you, Lovi.” Romulus put a hand on the back of his head and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll be back after dinner tonight.” 

Lovino nodded and watched Romulus get into the parked car while he went towards the separate carriage house his father had turned into a library. 

“You can’t smoke in there,” he added.

“I know,” Lovino replied exasperatedly, sitting down on the grass out front. 

“I’m just reminding you,” Romulus said, shutting the door and turning down the gravel drive. Lovino waved and picked at the grass, then stubbed out his cigarette and folded his balled-up shirt, setting it down with his shoes arranged on top of it. Then he leaned back to watch for the Beilschmidt’s delivery truck. 

It didn’t come. Instead he spotted a boy on a bike coming up the driveway, a crate of books lashed to the back. Lovino stood up, watching him swing himself off his bike, panting a little. He was sweating and his cheeks were flushed or maybe a bit sunburned. 

“Hello,” he said. “Is this the Vargas’s house?” 

“Yes,” Lovino said. “Who are you?”

“Antonio Carriedo. I work at the bookstore, and I have books for Mr. Romulus Vargas?” He had the remnants of a roll in his r, as if he wasn’t used to the flat English pronunciation. 

“Yes, that’s my dad. He’s just left, I’ll take them,” Lovino said. Antonio nodded and leaned his bike against his thigh, starting to undo the cords keeping the crate in place. His fingers made short work of the knots and he lifted the books off to hand to Lovino, his hands slipping underneath Lovino’s as he let go. Lovino struggled a little to lift it and held it hard to his chest so he wouldn’t drop it. 

“I can carry it if you take my bike,” Antonio said. Lovino would have resisted if it had been Gilbert, but this was a good-looking stranger with a charming smile that made Lovino’s cheeks turn rose. He watched the muscles shift in Antonio’s forearms as he took it back. Then he put a hand on the handlebars of his bike and a steadying hand on the seat. He opened the door for Antonio and leaned it up against the side of the library. 

“Wow,” Antonio murmured. He looked around at the shelves, and then up towards the loft that was stuffed with even more books. 

“I suppose books are your life, huh?” Lovino asked. Antonio shook his head, setting the crate down on the steps. 

“No, I just need a summer job. It’s so boring.” Lovino pulled the crate towards himself and sat on the steps, removing the books and beginning to sort them. “I’m saving for university, but I wish I had gone with my family to California, to see Hollywood and Los Angeles.” He sat on the steps beside Lovino, still breathing a little heavily. His knee touched Lovino’s as he let his legs flop open slightly. 

“Your accent is really strong, where are you from?” Lovino asked. 

“Uh, Spain,” Antonio said. 

“From where?” Lovino asked, switching to Spanish. Antonio sat forward. 

“You speak Spanish?” he asked, switching as well. Lovino nodded. “I’m from Alicante. We moved five months ago and I’d barely learned any English, so I sound like a real dumbass when I talk,” Antonio said. 

“I did too when I first moved,” Lovino said. “Italy,” he added, straightening one of the book piles set up on the step beneath him. “Marsala, specifically.” 

“Where did you learn Spanish?” Antonio asked. Lovino blushed a little and straightened the pile again even though it didn’t need straightening. 

“My dad’s work. We were living in Argentina, and I learned from one of the translator’s daughters.” 

Antonio raised his eyebrows, watching Lovino continue with the books. 

“Do you want help putting them away?” he asked, tugging at the front of his shirt; it was sticking to his chest and he didn’t like the feeling. Lovino glanced at the movement out of the corner of his eye and shook his head. 

“My dad’s organizational system will give you an aneurysm,” he insisted, getting to his feet with a few books in his hands and climbing up into the loft. 

“Try me,” Antonio said with a grin. “Besides, the longer I’m here the longer I’m not wasting away at work,” he said, leaning back on the stairs and looking at him upside down. “What’s your name, anyway?” 

“Lovino,” Lovino said, coming back down the steps. “These go in their section by publication date and the alphabetical by author last name. I’ll give you something easy…” he dug around in the crate and produced two atlases. “They go up there, with the geography books. There should be a little slip of paper taped on there that has the specific country names,” he added. 

Antonio went to pour over the shelves, and by the time he had finally put them away Lovino had finished with the rest of the box. Antonio gaped.

“What else am I supposed to do all summer?” Lovino asked with a shrug, answering Antonio’s unasked question. 

“I don’t know. Sneak in to parties. Go to speakeasies. Flirt with girls. Have fun, you know, those sorts of things,” Antonio said. “Or, do you not know how to have fun?” 

“For your information, I do go to parties. My neighbor Elizabeta has them nearly every night. I have the password to any and all speakeasies in this tiny town, which isn’t many, and when I want to go chat up pretty girls I go to the general store or the pier. I have plenty of fun,” he said. “Also, it’s going to storm soon. I’d head back into town before it hits.” 

Antonio nodded and walked outside with him. “I’m jealous,” he said. “I’m wasting my time working at a bookstore instead of seeing Los Angeles.” He sighed. “Los Angeles is probably real talked up though, right?” he asked as a low mess of clouds passed over the driveway. “Not as good as everyone says, like New York City,” he added, swinging a leg over his bike. 

“I’ve never been to Los Angeles, but I can speak for New York City. I find it very overwhelming,” Lovino said. “I live there,” he added. “We only come here for the summer.” 

“Oh,” Antonio said. “I can’t imagine you in New York City.” He laughed. His laugh made Lovino blush and heart beat pleasantly harder. It was so clear, so lovely, so deep all at once. 

“Why is that?” Lovino asked. Antonio looked him over once, and Lovino felt his eyes. His face got redder as Antonio fixed them on his face. He shrugged, then started down the driveway and bike back towards the road. Lovino thought about calling to him to remind him to get the crate, but he didn’t, because maybe Antonio would come back for it. 

**_____________**

Gilbert slapped Antonio on the back as he walked inside the sacred coolness of the bookstore, his cheeks red from the sun. 

“How are you enjoying being the new delivery boy?” he asked. 

“Better than being stuck behind the counter,” he said. The bell above the door tinkled softly and they turned around to see Roderich Edelstein on the doorstep. He was in one of his summer suits that was too clean and a gold brocade waistcoat, looking far too excessive in the stuffy little bookstore that dulled the gold and made the white look tan. 

“Hey, Rod,” Gilbert said. Roderich took off his hat and shook his head a little, like a bird shaking out its feathers. He closed the door behind him and brushed a bit of dust that wasn’t there from his shoulder, smoothed a lapel that didn’t need smoothing. “What made you decide to grace us lowly paupers with your presence?” 

Roderich glared, folding his hands over the head of his cane. He always had it with him, as he walked with a bad limp that Gilbert said was the remnant of a shot to the hip during the Great War. 

“I came to offer you an invitation to one of Elizabeta’s parties. I was hoping you might accompany me, as it would be a moral disaster to attend alone,” he said. He said something else as well, but Antonio didn’t catch it. He had trouble following Roderich’s speech; he spoke like an Oxford dictionary and his accent was an intricate, horrible mix of British and sharp traces of German. 

“Oh, okay, I see,” Gilbert said. “You want to impress some girl and don’t want to look like the friendless recluse you are.” 

Roderich blushed and adjusted his glasses that were already quite comfortably in place on his nose. 

“It’s against my code of ethics to go to a social function unaccompanied,” he said.

Gilbert laughed loudly and slapped the counter.

“My God, priss, then you’ve got _the most_ pretentious “code of ethics” I’ve heard in my life.” He shook his head, still laughing. “I can’t, anyway. Luddy and I are taking the sailboat out tonight. Antonio will go with you.” Antonio perked up at hearing his name.

“Uh, what?” 

“He’s going to a party tonight. He needs someone to go with. Will you go with him? It’ll be fun.” 

Antonio shrugged. “Sure,” he said. He turned back to the bookshelf. Lovino had mentioned something about an Elizabeta, hadn’t he? And her having parties? He smiled to himself and blushed a little, hoping as hard as he could Lovino would be there.


	2. Chapter 2

Elizabeta’s house was beside the bay, built in homage to the American dream. In the afternoon you could watch the ore barges en route to Marquette across Lake Superior from the handsome bay windows in her parlor. Burgundy velvet draped the furniture, the chandeliers sparkled with absent light. And tonight, all the rooms were stifled with those whose hands were full of trust fund money. They were akin to starved, denied spirits with their pale, restless faces. 

Antonio felt incredibly out of place standing in the foyer, wearing clothes he had previously considered quite nice. Roderich only worsened the situation with his gorgeous imported suit that somehow managed to outdo his afternoon attire. One look at him was enough to convince Antonio he wasn’t just incredibly out of place, but inexcusably so. 

He bobbed behind Roderich with nervous, stuttering steps, until he found Elizabeta. He kissed her hand and murmured in her ear, grazing his thumb across her knuckles. She smiled and her blush turned her cheeks into little rosettes. 

Antonio shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet, feeling more and more uncomfortable. Eventually he left Roderich and meandered towards the thrown-open French doors facing the patio where a jazz band played. Most of Elizabeta’s guests were dancing on the lawn, but there was a cluster of them beside the band, lit up by the gas lamps. 

Flappers in their beaded dresses danced beneath a faint haze of cigarette smoke, the men beside them flushed by alcohol and adoration, nothing but innocent in the warm summer night. Their drinks caught the gas light and turned to ambrosia, spilling over their wrists as they tipped their heads back and laughed. They looked unreal, only playful illusions of beautiful people.

And beneath the filigree and cut crystal was Lovino Vargas, standing across the crowd, sliding an olive off a toothpick. He was talking to one of the flapper girls, who had a hand at the necklace against her throat. 

Jealousy picked between Antonio’s bones and he forced himself through the crowd over to them. Lovino looked up and met his eyes, but flicked them away without hesitation. Antonio’s heart went heavy. 

“Antonio,” Lovino said. Hearing Lovino say his name, Antonio was overcome by a rush of endearment.

“I didn’t expect you to be someone who likes parties!” he yelled over the buzzing chatter and the music. 

“Clearly…” Lovino commented, before switching back to English to address the girl. He took her hand and said something to her that Antonio couldn’t hear. She nodded and stepped back into the crowd, still grinning at Lovino, not letting her hand drop until she could no longer reach him. 

“I didn’t mean to disrupt you,” Antonio insisted without a hint of sincerity. Lovino shrugged. 

“I wasn’t trying to get with her, I just got bored and wanted to flirt,” he said. “I can entertain myself, contrary to what you think.”

“Huh?” 

“Remember what you said earlier? About my inability to have fun?” Lovino raised an eyebrow. “Don’t I look like I’m having the grandest time? Please, tell me, my brother’s right there and if he sees me looking bored he’ll come harass me until I socialize,” he added. 

Antonio sighed. “I hate to tell you this, but I don’t think I’ve seen someone look more bored in all my life, and I work in a bookstore that gets four customers a day. If we’re _lucky_.” 

Lovino leaned closer to him. Antonio could smell his cologne and the faded sun on his skin. “Then tell me something interesting, Antonio,” Lovino said, looking at him with relaxed fascination, and it was all Antonio could do not to stare at him. He felt wrong meeting Lovino’s eyes, as though he were addressing some high royal whose face he was not fit to look at.

“I once fit a whole tomato in my mouth when I was five and I started choking on it, and my mum was so scared she started asking God why He chose such a humiliating way for me to die but then my brother tackled me from behind and I spit the tomato out and here I am.” 

Lovino wore the faintest hint of a smile, trying not to laugh, which made Antonio smile back. “That wasn’t interesting. More distressing. Do I look distressed?” Lovino asked. 

“You do look pretty distressed,” Antonio agreed, and his smile creeped up to a grin. 

Maybe it was because he was finally speaking his first language again, but talking to Lovino was so easy, so comfortable. Antonio couldn’t possibly say anything wrong, because if he stumbled, Lovino would catch him, and he would catch Lovino too. 

“Can you do better?” Antonio asked. 

“Oh absolutely. I bet you a hundred dollars,” he added. Antonio raised his eyebrows.

“Careful.” 

“I always am,” Lovino promised. He beckoned Antonio closer. His whole body got hot being so near Lovino, and when he spoke low in Antonio’s ear and his breath brushed his cheek Antonio found himself frozen. All that heat spilled into his stomach and gathered there, a dull pulse far below his heart. 

“I only pay half price at the speakeasies in this town, which is why Elizabeta is so well stocked. I’ve got alcohol stashed all over our property. I’d say that’s pretty interesting.” 

“I’m interested,” Antonio declared, amazed he didn’t stutter. 

“Good,” Lovino said. Then he leaned back. “What do you want? She’s got everything, thanks to me.” He winked. No one had ever winked at Antonio before. It made him all the more flustered. 

“Surprise me,” Antonio replied, his voice weak. Lovino grinned and ordered him to stay put, slipping away into the crowd. He returned with two flutes of champagne and a little scotch glass full of a clear liquid. 

“Do you want to come down to the beach with me? It’s quieter.” Antonio nodded, following Lovino outside. The air was softer away from the smoke and heat of people and their spent energy. 

Lovino took the steps down to the beach two at a time, settling on the soft stretch of sand where the lake came up. Antonio sat down beside him, watching the soft lap of the waves, listening to the muted noise of the party. He breathed with the swell of the waves, thinking it might quiet his heart. 

“Here you go. A ‘speciality’ of the locals. It smells just like it tastes, and yes, it can take the paint off motor cars,” Lovino said, handing the glass to Antonio, who took the smallest sip he could. He choked. It tasted like it could power an airplane. 

Lovino started on one of the glasses of champagne. “Do you live in Michigan?” 

“No, Texas,” Antonio said. “My dad is working overseas with an oil company in Dallas. I don’t like it there very much,” he added, shoving the glass into the damp sand and taking the other champagne from Lovino. “I expected it to be difficult to adjust to having English around me all the time, but I didn’t realize how _different_ Americans are. They have a completely separate mindset to what I’m used to.” 

“It is difficult,” Lovino agreed. 

“And I―nevermind. I doubt you want to hear about any of that.” He turned red and took an anxious drink from his champagne. 

“You make too many assumptions about me. I’m very surprising,” Lovino said, reaching in his pocket for his cigarette case. “Want one?” he asked. Antonio nodded, removing a squashed matchbox from his pocket and striking one to light his cigarette. The outline burned green in Lovino’s vision as it went out. 

“Did you just light up with a match?” Lovino asked. 

“I did.” 

“Is that how they do it in Spain?” 

“It’s how I like to do it. Try it,” he added, handing Lovino the matches. Lovino shrugged, struck one, cupped his hand around the little flame so the wind wouldn’t blow it out, and lit his cigarette. 

“I think it makes it taste better,” Antonio said. He took a long drag and stared at the water, taking a sip of champagne to wash away the hot tobacco taste. 

“What do you think?” 

“You might be onto something, Antonio,” Lovino said. “And go on shitting on America, if you would like. Complaining is my absolute favorite pastime.” Antonio smiled again in spite of himself. 

“This is hard to explain, so bare with me, but… The older I get, the more… _aware_ I am of the world, and everything seems unfamiliar to me all of the sudden. I never paid attention to time much before, but now it feels like it’s going be _so fast_ , and my life is going by and I’m not doing anything about it because I’m too busy dealing with trying to get used to America even though I’m not going to stay here. I mean, I’ve never kissed a girl, or even held someone’s hand, I’ve never…” he broke off, shaking his head. He did not need to seem clueless about romance in front of Lovino. 

“You’re having an existential crisis but the thing you’re really worried about is your romantic prowess?” Lovino mused. Antonio blushed.

“Well, I… don’t you worry too?” 

“Not much,” Lovino said, tapping his cigarette and then raising it back to his mouth. “I’ve kissed a girl. Touched her tits, too.” 

“O-oh,” Antonio stammered. “Congratulations.”

Lovino snickered. “Thank you,” he said. There was a stiff silence for a moment, then Lovino asked, “you aren’t going to ask me what they felt like?” 

“Uh―” Antonio’s face flushed deeper. 

“I’m only teasing,” Lovino promised, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles. Antonio nodded, laying on his back and staring at the sky. It wasn’t quite dark, still a little navy, and the clouds were deep mauve. 

“It gets easier,” Lovino murmured. “Being here. You get used to their attitudes and the rampant capitalism and English, too.”

Antonio smiled at the sky. There were no stars. Lovino glanced sideways at him, eyes full of the night, a bit of his hair laid across his forehead.

How would it feel to trace his fingertips along Antonio’s cheek, the curve of jaw, the outline of his lips? Was his skin hot from the sunburn? Would his hair be silky or rough between his fingers? And if Antonio were to turn his face now and smile against Lovino’s thigh, would he feel it? 

“You should come by again. You forgot your crate,” Lovino said. 

“I will. How is tomorrow around noon?” 

“Excellent.”


	3. Chapter 3

Lovino leaned against the windowsill of the carriage house’s upper floor, watching the rain beginning to dot the gravel drive. He rested his chin on his forearm, listening to the tapping starting on the roof. His eyes drifted down to the lake, lined with with white surf where waves broke over beneath the storm clouds. He started to worry that Antonio might not show. He would understand, yet it gave him such an overwhelming sense of disappointment he got nauseous. 

All he could think of was Antonio. He pictured his face, those expressive eyes, the bloom of rose water pink in his face when Lovino made him blush. Lovino could make him blush. It gave him a dizzy pride that he caused Antonio to fumble his words with a simple look, a lazy smile. Imagine what he could do with his hands, his mouth, his body. 

Now Lovino blushed. 

The rain was coming down hard, looking more like a gauzy haze. But there was Antonio, biking up the driveway, braced against it all. The moment he saw Antonio, Lovino got the sense he stood in the rain too, and it got under his skin where it chilled his blood and made him go weak. He shook his head, inhaling the warm scent of books and hardwood, holding it there at the top of his lungs to combat the rain. 

He took the steps two at a time and swung himself out onto the driveway, out into the wind and the driving rain that saturated his hair and rolled down his cheeks. 

Antonio dragged his bike over and ducked beside him. His shirt clung to him in his shoulders and chest. His hair was free of Brilliantine, drawn into close curls and sticking to his nape and forehead. Panting, he pushed it away from his eyes. Lovino studied the movement, tracing the tendons in his hands, his knuckles, then down his throat where it met the collar of his shirt. 

“You didn’t have to show up, I would’ve understood,” Lovino said, forced to raise his voice to be heard over the rain. Antonio shook his head and smiled a bit.

“Just some rain,” Antonio replied. 

“You can bring your bike in.” Lovino gestured to the door, moving aside. Antonio followed him inside, propping it against the wall and enjoying the solace of being inside the library. “Are you up to go to the lighthouse? We can watch the storm from up there.” 

Antonio hesitated for a second, but he nodded. Outside the rain made everything smell of wet pine bark and damp sand. The wind grazed the lake, dragging its sweet vegetal scent along with the pelting rain. Antonio shivered, squinting against the droplets flecking his lashes as he trailed Lovino across a neat row of worn-down boards towards the lighthouse atop the dune. Everywhere on the Vargas property was connected by these driftwood paths, swept over with wet sand and uprooted, crushed dunegrass. 

“Do you own it?” Antonio called. 

Lovino shook his head. “Our neighbors do, but they don’t care if I visit.” He reached in his back pocket for a set of keys and sifted through them for the proper one, a brass thing that matched the neat brickwork of the place.

The foot of the lighthouse was surrounded by a tangle of more beach grasses, giving it a feral look that unnerved Antonio. The interior was dim, even eerie, but the light promised warmth and shelter from the weather, so Antonio ran to it. 

They stood in the stillness for several moments, catching their breath and allowing their eyes to adjust to the dull, greasy yellow light from lamps along the wall. The stairs made the place smell of cast iron. 

“Let’s go to the observation deck,” Lovino said. Antonio glanced at the spiral staircase with its iron steps and the sizeable gaps between them and again had to congregate some courage to follow ovino up them. He stopped at the first landing. It had a small porthole window and a door to the observation deck. 

“Usually I like to sit up top, but it’s open and we would get drenched,” he said. Antonio nodded. Lovino unlocked the door and stepped outside. Antonio hung back. 

“Is it safe?” 

“Yes,” Lovino promised. He held the door open, and Antonio stepped out beside him. “Don’t look so terrified. I didn’t take you up here to kill you.”

“I wasn’t thinking that, but now I am,” Antonio said as the door closed behind them. The observation deck was also open, but there was a generous overhang they could sit beneath the avoid the rain, though it didn’t protect them from the cold. Perhaps that was why after they sat down they were so near to each other. 

Lovino pulled his knees up to his chest as he watched the waves roll over and break, then up towards the dark clouds, listening for thunder. 

“Aren’t you not supposed to be up high in a thunderstorm?” Antonio asked. 

“Don’t be such a bluenose,” Lovino said. Antonio frowned and faced the lake, bracing his hands on the damp wood beneath him. A strand of lightning dipped down from the clouds, and Antonio leaned forward, a softened amazement coming over him. No matter how many thunderstorms he witnessed in his lifetime, there was nothing so entrancing and eye-catching as dancing, disappearing lightning. 

“I always watched the storms in Alicante,” Antonio murmured. “Up in the attic, where I could see best. The thunder used to scare me, but I loved the lightning.” 

“Does it still scare you?” Lovino asked. 

“Sometimes,” Antonio admitted. Lovino chuckled. Antonio blushed and looked down, noticing how close Lovino’s hand was to his. Close enough to touch, if only he extended his pinky. The idea horrified him, seeming as drastic as taking Lovino’s face in his hands and kissing him. But he wanted to touch Lovino. The desire was a pull under his ribs, in his pinky, an overpowering one for something very simple. It was a tributary feeding into the craving to be skin-to-skin with someone, with _him_ , with Lovino. 

Antonio flushed deeper. He could feel the heat in his cheeks, uncomfortable and tingling, and wished there was something he could do about it. Not only was it annoying, but Lovino might start speculating about why Antonio was always so red around him. 

Part of Antonio hoped he did. 

“I miss Alicante,” he muttered, sighing. “You don’t seem to miss Marsala at all. Then again, I suppose you’ve got a few places to be homesick for.” 

Lovino rested his chin on his knee and wrapped his arms around his legs. Antonio would have no chance to “accidentally” brush his hand now. He kicked himself for not being a bit bolder, though he wasn’t particularly used to being bold about his feelings. Usually he did anything and everything to make them nameless, sheltering them among his heartstrings where they festered but couldn’t be free. 

But Lovino was different. Antonio had a strong sense Lovino liked him, less of a feeling and more an emotion; an unfamiliar surety Antonio recognized despite having never felt it before. 

“You’re right, I do have a lot of places to be homesick for.” He plucked his damp sleeves and let out an inaudible sigh. “There’s Marsala, and Salta, and Long Island. I liked it there the best, because we lived there on this hot year where it felt like summer as soon as winter was over and until mid October. 

“I loved summer there. They had sailboat races on the bay in the evenings, and I could watch them from my balcony. All these obscure actors used to take holidays there, and they would bring their pretty daughters. We used to watch the boats on the dock in the evening, one of them taught me how to roll cigarettes. But we always got bored of each other in the end.” 

“You don’t miss Marsala?” Antonio asked.

“I do,” Lovino murmured. “I miss my family, and the citrus trees, and going down to the ocean in the morning. I even miss the streets, because they were so narrow, they made me feel sort of… safe. And the architecture was all leftover from antiquity, there’s none of that old character here. Everything is too new.” Antonio nodded. “What do you miss about Alicante?” 

Antonio looked at his hands. Everything. His missed everything. 

“Mostly the ocean,” he said. “Especially the smell, which I know a lot of people think is gross, but it reminds me of home because our house was near the beach. We always had fresh seafood, too. Mama made _paella_ on Sundays for my brother and I as her way of rewarding us for sitting through church, since it was our favorite. But I mostly miss being around people who think like me and talk like me.” 

He waited for Lovino to respond, but was met with silence. Antonio didn’t know if he was disinterested, or thinking, or simply didn’t feel it necessary to respond. 

“Did you really learn Spanish from your dad’s translator?” 

“His daughter, but yes. Why not?” 

“You’re so fluent,” Antonio said. 

“We spent a lot of time together, and I kept up with it when we left,” Lovino said. “Martína from Argentina,” he added with something very near a smile but not quite there. 

“Ah, Argentine Spanish. That’s why you speak without the _ceceo_ ,” Antonio said. “Your accent is funny.” 

“I’m sure yours wouldn’t be perfect if you tried to speak Italian.” 

“Give me something to say,” Antonio said. 

“ _Sono una vergine senza speranza_.” He gave Antonio a polite, mild smile, but Antonio frowned back at him.

“Well, I know the words _am_ and _virgin_ are in there so haha, that’s very funny,” Antonio said. Lovino laughed under his breath.

“Alright, I’ll try something else so I don’t hurt your feelings,” he said. “ _Penso che sei molto bello._ ” Antonio asked him to repeat it. Lovino did. He asked to hear it one more time, and Lovino said it again. After a moment, Antonio copied him, and when he did he met Lovino’s gaze and held it until he blushed. Antonio didn’t think he had ever made someone blush before. 

“How was that?” 

“Alright,” he said. “Your vowels are too closed, though. It needs work.” Antonio mock-huffed and looked back up at the sky. Lightning flashed through the mauve clouds, this time accompanied by a loud crack of thunder. Antonio flinched and then went red with embarrassment.

“Maybe this isn’t your idea of fun, hm? Let’s go back to the cottage. I’ll make a fire and we can have some coffee,” Lovino suggested. Antonio nodded and got to his feet, leading the way back to the house. The rain had calmed some but the wind was no better and made him tear up. 

They went upstairs and Lovino got Antonio a towel from the linen closet, wandering into his room to get himself dry clothes. While he changed in the bathroom, Antonio engaged in some polite snooping around the room. It was a mess, but the sort of mess that had order, suggesting Lovino wanted to keep organized but never could. He seemed to have considered making his bed but then changed his mind and and pulled the blanket up over the pillows, not even bothering to smooth them. 

He sat on the edge of Lovino’s bed until he returned, his hair roughly towel-dried. 

“All my clothes are too small for you,” he said with a sigh as he dug around his wardrobe. “You’ll dry off quick by the fire, I promise.” 

Antonio was unconvinced as he followed Lovino down the stairs. He tossed himself onto a chair by the grate, watching Lovino crouch down and put some fresh pieces of oak into the hearth, striking a match and lighting the tinder he had laid on top. When he was satisfied it wouldn’t go out, he went into the kitchen to make coffee. Antonio migrated onto the floor, sitting with his back to the couch so the fire would dry his damp clothes. 

Lovino eventually returned and sat down next to him, handing him a cup. “I tried to make _café con leche_ to remind you of Spain. I doubt I did it right, since I visited when I was fourteen. I based it off a macchiato.” 

“It’s more milky than a macchiato,” Antonio said. “It’s good, though,” he assured Lovino after he tried it. 

“I’m glad,” Lovino said. “You can have a blanket, you know, you don’t have to be stuck with a towel.” Lovino stood up and pulled a blanket off the back of the couch. Given that Antonio’s hands were occupied with his cup, Lovino took it upon himself to drape the blanket over his shoulders himself. 

“Thank you,” Antonio said, pulling the edge closer to himself. “But my God, you’re _freezing_.” He tossed a bit of the blanket over Lovino’s shoulder, grazing his fingers along the back of Lovino’s neck as he did. 

Goosebumps rose on Lovino’s skin at his touch and he got a cold palpitation down his spine. That couldn’t have been an accident, could it? But maybe he was getting too used to America and everyone’s discomfort with and therefore avoidance of physical contact. 

Lovino looked over at Antonio and Antonio looked back at him with a small smile. Lovino’s eyes settled on his mouth, the gentle curve of it. He ached with curiosity about the feeling of Antonio’s lips against his, and the urge to kiss him was so strong it scared him a bit. He was truly afraid he might do it despite how he told himself not to. 

Lovino forced himself to look away, instead focusing on the fire and its warm, smoky, salty smell. He didn’t need to be thinking like that. Not at all. 

But that didn’t at all mean he wasn’t going to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick translations:
> 
> Sono una vergine senza speranza - I’m a hopeless virgin  
> Penso che sei molto bello - I think you’re very handsome


	4. Chapter 4

They spent the remainder of the afternoon in front of the fire, watching it dwindle down to a hot glow between the blackened logs. Every few seconds it would pop and crack, pale ash touching the grate, ghostly pale and searching for the unreachable place beyond the metal. The rain had settled, becoming a gentle rap on the windows, and Antonio freed himself from the blanket and towels as he finished his coffee. 

Antonio talked about his old home in Alicante, a real longing in his voice that made Lovino hurt too. But he liked Antonio’s stories about Spain. He liked listening to his voice, all chambré red wine and the dusky lakefront. He wanted to listen to Antonio all day and all night, to stare at him too, take in the fine details of him that were never paid attention to.

“I should get back to the Beilschmidt’s,” Antonio said, glancing at his watch. “Thank you for the coffee.” Lovino nodded. There was something curt about their exchanges; they treaded carefully with their words, afraid that some suspicious phrasing would give way to the undercurrent. Every word, every movement, it seemed to scream the things sunken in those salty waters. 

“I’ll drive you,” Lovino replied, getting his feet. He picked up their empty coffee cups and left them in the kitchen, Antonio followed, holding the balled-up wet towel. Lovino took it from him and tossed it down the laundry chute.

“You know,” Antonio started, watching Lovino get his shoes on. “I defeated the purpose of coming here. Now not only do you have my book crate, you’ve got my bike, too.” 

“So I do,” Lovino said. He straightened up and took his coat out of the closet, standing very near to Antonio. He moved aside; he felt if he didn’t, he may as well confess. Lovino would know Antonio wanted to be close to him, to touch him, to kiss him, to do everything he could imagine and the things Lovino could show him. 

“You can get it when the weather clears,” Lovino assured him. They walked outside to the garage, where Antonio frowned at the car. “No need for that,” Lovino said, noting his pale expression. “My papa taught me, I’m quite a good driver.” 

“Anytime someone has to specify they are something I get quite nervous,” Antonio replied. 

Lovino ignored him. “He just got this one imported from Germany, it’s real pretty.” He patted the hood and swung himself into the driver’s side, Antonio climbing in beside him. 

“I’m not supposed to drive, because there’s no gas in this town, but we’re not going far.” 

Antonio pulled the door shut. He had only been in a car once, and his father had been driving it, who he trusted to protect his life significantly more. 

“We’re not going to die, are we?” Antonio asked. 

“Probably not,” Lovino said. Antonio went white and stayed that way as Lovino backed the car out of the garage, down to the solem road that ran along the woods. Cedar branches brushed Lovino’s window.

“We’re going far too fast,” Antonio insisted, clutching his seat. Lovino laughed. It was low, a rough-hewn sort of sound that made Antonio’s chest feel warm as if he had just laughed too. 

“ _Too fast_? This isn’t even a quarter of the speed.” He leaned forward, close to the wheel, and stepped on the gas. He grinned at Antonio, an expression that shocked him. Antonio flung himself back against the seat, horrified. 

“Keep your eyes on the road!” he screeched. He clasped his hands in front of his face, pinching his eyes shut. “Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for… uh, for… for having annoyed? Having annoyed Thee, and I detest all my sins because of Thy punishments… I firmly resolve with the grace of Thy—wait, I skipped a line… Hell! I forgot contrition! Do you know it?” 

Lovino laughed again, and it made Antonio smile despite the threat of the road rising up to meet him. He backed off the gas.

“No. My family isn’t terribly religious.” 

“I’m not either, but near death experiences are notorious for making religious men.” 

“Not devout? What’s your necklace, then?” 

“Oh, this?” Antonio lifted the fine-pounded chain from the front of his shirt, a little Roman cross dropping between his fingers. “It’s for my mum’s sake. She would never know happiness again if she knew I’m not much of a believer anymore. It’s all because of her, really, sending me to all-boys Catholic schools for twelve years. That was plenty to turn me off for religion permanently.” 

“Do tell,” Lovino said. 

“Well, it was mostly boarding school. My roommate was a twelfth year for some reason. I _hated_ him for the first two months,” Antonio said, putting a passionate emphasis on _hated_. “He was a terrible Catholic, always skipping mass, being blasphemous and such, just abhorrent. And I was sure he was a homosexual.” He checked Lovino’s reaction, but didn’t get one, so he continued. 

“I’m not quite sure how he did it, but he convinced me how nice it would be to relax a bit, and he started inviting me to hang out with his equally blasphemous friends. They were always smoking and sneaking out to the girls’ school down the road. I thought they were cool.” Antonio gave an embarrassed laugh. 

“And then in the second term we shared our room with this other guy because he was quite problematic, and the staff thought I would be a good influence on him. No such luck. In fact, I think he’s the one who had the influence on me. He struck up a porn business out of our room within the first day, and initially I panicked but then I realized how desperate everyone was and I wanted in. You couldn’t imagine how much money I made, and only in a few months, because someone snitched and our room got raided. They didn’t find anything though, because he hid it all _in_ his mattress with two bottles of sacrament wine.” 

Antonio smiled with gentle nostalgia, as though having his room searched was a dear memory. 

“What makes you think your roommate was a homosexual?” Lovino asked, giving the road far more attention than he had before. 

“The cellar-dungeon bathrooms, as we called them,” Antonio said. “They were in the basement, and no one ever used them; they were so old and dirty and quite scary, really. I think the staff knew it was a hotbed of sin but the last thing they wanted to do was catch us with our trousers down, literally, so they didn’t touch it. 

“Mostly people sold drugs down there, but they thought everyone went down there to jerk off, and we did. Once the monsignor caught me coming up from there and I thought he _knew_ , because he put a hand on my shoulder, looked me dead in the eye, and said, _remember, whoever sins sexually sins against their own body._ Very unpleasant. I wouldn’t go down there for months after that. Anyway. My roommate. 

“I saw him down there with one of his friends. I thought it was a token drug deal, you know, but then they kissed and I figured that wasn’t the case.” 

“Maybe he had a little vial of coke under his tongue and that was his only means to pass it,” Lovino suggested. Antonio laughed a little. “Sounds like a charming gentleman. Introduce us sometime.” 

“You think so? Even though he was a homosexual?” Lovino glanced at Antonio.

“I may be reading the room with gross incompetence, but I have a suspicion that troubles neither of us,” he said. Antonio bit the inside of his lip. “What sort of porn was it, anyway?” 

“Nothing good. Desperate Catholic boys will jack it to anything.” 

“Fair enough,” Lovino said. 

“Well, not me. I have respectable taste.” Antonio blushed and wished he hadn’t spoken. Lovino scoffed and he reddened further. “Sorry we can’t all be casanovas like you, Lovino, but it’s not my _choice_ to be celibate, okay? If there was someone willing, I—” 

“I can think of someone very willing,” Lovino said. 

“You’re not going to try and set me up with someone, are you?” Antonio asked. 

“No, try again.” 

“Come on, Lovino, just tell me who. I don’t know anyone around here.” Lovino drove the car onto the edge of the road and parked it there, sliding his hands off the steering wheel. 

“Think for a second.” Antonio thought, but still seemed confused, so Lovino sighed. “Do you want to kiss me, Antonio?” 

Antonio went red up to the ears. Yes, he did, perhaps more than he desired oxygen. He wanted Lovino to be his first kiss but not at the same time, because he wanted to kiss Lovino in that fantastical way they did in pictures, not whatever his attempt would end up being. But he was not going to say no.

“Y-yes,” he stuttered. 

“Can I touch you?” His voice was soft as he leaned closer. Antonio’s stomach filled with static and a sexual excitement that was more thought than feeling. No one had ever drawn that stirring sensitivity in his stomach. He wanted to feel it again, deeper, heavier, take it out of his head and into his body.

“Yes, please,” Antonio whispered. Lovino chuckled. He leaned forward, resting his fingertips on the side of his face, along his cheekbone, only just touching him in a way that felt like a smooth, dull tickle. He traced the outline of Antonio’s slightly open mouth. It made Antonio’s lips tingle and itch. 

“Oh, but I can’t kiss you here,” Lovino whispered. He was so close Antonio could have drawn his breath. “It’s so dull. A motor car in the rain on an empty road. Sort of sad, certainly not romantic. I want to be somewhere beautiful.” 

“I’ve waited eighteen years for this,” Antonio muttered. Lovino smiled, his eyes not leaving Antonio’s mouth. 

“So you can wait a little bit longer,” he murmured, running his thumb underneath Antonio’s lower lip. Antonio tilted his face towards Lovino’s, and his expression was so helpless Lovino almost felt guilty. But he didn’t move closer, didn’t kiss him, only listened to the rain on the metal roof and Antonio’s hitched breath, inhaled the clean smell of new leather. 

“That’s long enough,” Antonio breathed. He had to kiss Lovino now or he never would. So he grabbed the front of Lovino’s shirt and pulled him down, and then he was kissing him. Or trying. 

Lovino stiffened in surprise and slight panic. He had kissed one person before, when she was drunk and thought it would be funny to. There had been little skill involved in that, certainly not the skill this required. He was lost as to how to proceed, and all he knew was that he had to try _something_. 

Staring at the dark ceiling in his room, Lovino had pressed his lips together, trying to simulate what it might feel like to have someone’s mouth against his, someone who wasn’t drunk and essentially licking him. And while the feeling itself of tensed muscle and soft skin was no different, he could not say the same about the rest of his body. It twitched and prickled and _wanted_ , though what Lovino didn’t know. 

He didn’t know what to do with himself. Neither did Antonio, still hanging on to the front of his shirt the way someone holds on to the side of a boat in a storm when the waves are high and cold. Lovino braced one hand on Antonio’s upper thigh and put the other at his nape, using his thumb to stroke the spot behind his ear. The motion comforted him and Antonio too. 

With his hands occupied, he could focus on Antonio’s mouth. Despite his efforts, it all remained clumsy, and when they broke apart their faces were red from varying degrees of embarrassment. 

“It’s a lot… warmer, than I expected,” Antonio said, breathless. Lovino stared at him in disbelief. “I don’t know what else to say!” he exclaimed, grabbing Lovino’s shoulders. “Dont laugh at me!” he went on, shaking them as Lovino chuckled. 

“ _Ha ha ha_ ,” he said. “Maybe you’ll have something more romantic to say the second time, yeah?” Antonio nodded, closing his eyes. Lovino kissed him again, this time splitting the seam of his lips, wanting to taste Antonio despite there not being anything _to_ taste. He imagined there was, something like candied orange peels in dark chocolate. 

There was spit on Lovino’s lip when he pulled away. 

“Why does it have to sound so _wet_?” Antonio muttered. 

Lovino stared at him with baffled disbelief. “ _Saliva_ ,” he said. “Did you get hard just from _that_?” 

“Only slightly,” Antonio snapped. “And so are you, hypocrite,” he added with genuine accusation. 

“What a predicament we find ourselves in,” Lovino said. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not willing to have sex in my father’s nice new motor car. We haven’t even been on a real date yet. And no, getting your things tomorrow does not count. I’m a gentleman of our times, Antonio, you have to woo me before you get into bed with me, and so far your comments about kissing have been less than romantic.” 

Antonio sighed sadly, squirming a bit in his seat, which was exactly the reaction Lovino wanted. 

This was never going to turn into anything serious with so little time, so he would have as much fun toying with Antonio as he could. 

“Alright. I’ll think of something,” Antonio muttered. 

“Terrific,” Lovino said. “Now I’m going to drive this car as many miles per hour as I want down this road and you’re not going to scream in my ear, because I’d rather have you do that on another, more intimate occasion.” 

“That doesn’t sound like something a refined gentleman would say,” Antonio said. 

“Oh course he would. Any and all refined gentlemen know the art of innuendo, Antonio,” Lovino said. “I suggest you learn it by tomorrow, for our date.”


	5. Chapter 5

Lovino rustled under his blankets when he heard a light knock at his door. “Lovi!” Feliciano called. 

“What?” he muttered into the summery sheets. They were warm from the sun. 

“The Beilschmidt’s delivery boy is here. Antonio, that’s his name, anyway, he said he came by for his bike but doesn’t remember where he put it. He said you would know,” Feliciano said. Lovino pressed his face to his pillows. Why did he have to show up so _early_? 

“Tell him I’ll be down in a second,” he said. Kicking off his blankets, he rolled onto his side to He face the round porthole window that looked onto the lake. This morning the water was deep blue, a few distant white spots of yachts out on the bay. Past the seawall was an ore barge crawling towards the Canadian shore, rusty red like the copper in its belly. 

Lovino stood up to stretch, trying to touch his toes but too stiff from sleep. He gave up and sat down on the bed with his hands under his thighs, watching the ship. He had opened the window in the night to do something about the heat in his room, and the air that drifted in was warm and smelled of pine. Lovino closed his eyes, imagining he was back home on his bed in Marsala, listening to the wind rustle the palms and the ocean’s distant suck and pull. But the lake didn’t have the salt-tang of the ocean. The lake was sweet. 

He forced himself back up to get dressed and slick his hair back with Brillantine. He hated the smell and wrinkled his nose at himself in the mirror, wiping it off his hands on one of the roughed-up hand towels before running down the stairs. 

Antonio was standing in the foyer with his hands sunken into his pockets, looking at an old map of Michigan on the wall. 

“Did you have to show up so damn early?” Lovino complained. 

“Oh, sorry,” Antonio said. “I just… came to get my bike.” 

“So I heard.” Lovino slipped his shoes on and grabbed the library key off the hook beside the door, heading outside to the library. The interior was cool and broke the humidity, soft on the eyes after the sun on the pale gravel. Antonio got his bike and wheeled it onto the driveway, pausing for a moment for swinging his leg over it. 

“Did you come up with some exciting plans for me?” Lovino asked. 

“I did,” Antonio said, grinning. “Come by the Beilschmidts’s around three, when I get off work. They have a sailboat and said I can take it out anytime I want.” 

Lovino leaned back against the side of the library. “Intriguing, Antonio. I’ll see you at three.” Antonio nodded. He delayed a second, checking behind him to assure they were out of sight, and kissed Lovino on the cheek. When he leaned back he was blushing.

“What was that for?” Antonio shrugged, heading back for the road. He was dazed and giddy and everything was wonderfully out of focus. He tucked his chin to his chest and laughed under his breath, still unbelieving that Lovino was real, and liked him, and had kissed him… 

Lovino watched him go, then returned to his room. He lay on his bed and tried to read, but he was bored and sick of sitting still. Instead he got up and rolled a cigarette at his desk, flopping back down on his bed to smoke it, staring at the ceiling. The ore barge had moved on from his window’s view, but the yachts continued their improvised dance, simple white flecks across the vast blue lake. They looked too small and too delicate. 

The heat was already quite bad, though he was sure it was made worse by the humidity, which held down the breeze and stagnanted the air. Lovino tossed his shirt on the floor and grabbed his book, propping it against his pillows and rolling onto his chest to read. He wished the time would pass faster. He wanted it to be three, to go sailing with Antonio on the lake that could drag them under. 

And when he finally arrived at the Beilschmidt’s, the heat was worse and the humidity clotted up his throat. Ludwig directed him to their dock, where Lovino found Antonio sitting and watching the waves swell beneath him. His trousers were rolled up at his shins and flecked with lakewater, his shirtsleeves pushed up his forearms. When he heard Lovino coming down the dock, he looked over his shoulder and grinned. 

“Lovino!” he called, getting to his feet and walking over to him. “Are you excited?” he asked, and he reached out and took Lovino’s hands. No one had ever taken his hands before. And Antonio looked so happy, his eyes crinkled with joy and the wind blowing at his shirt and hair. Lovino was overtaken by a desire to hug him as hard as he was able, because in that instant he looked so intensely huggable. Though of course he did not. 

“I’m _so_ excited, I haven’t been out on the water since I left Alicante.” 

“So you’re out of practice,” he said. 

“No,” Antonio said. “Sailing is the sort of thing you never forget,” he promised, walking him down the dock and climbing onto the boat. He offered his hand and Lovino took it, stepping onto the little deck and sitting down. He watched Antonio bend over to undo the knots holding the boat to the dock, taking in the slope of his thighs down to his calves.

“Are you staring at my ass?” Antonio asked.

“Perhaps.” 

Antonio laughed and sat down at the rudder. Lovino was looking at a picnic basket in the centre of the deck. “Oh, Mr. Edelstein brought by some pastries. I have no idea what most of them are, but I thought we could try some as soon as we get out into open water,” he said. He went back to steering the boat out of the little marina towards the heart of the bay, humming under his breath as he did with that adorable little smile that made Lovino feel like he was blushing all over, even inside his stomach. 

“Do you have any sea shanties you can sing?” Lovino asked. Antonio shook his head. “Damn. I was really hoping for a shanty or two.” Antonio apologized. “Someday I’ll recover, though certainly not today,” Lovino said, leaning on the edge of the boat and gliding his fingers along the surface of the lake. He watched the little flashes of afternoon sun hit the grooves of the water, like sparks. They popped green and violet and soft orange in his vision when he looked away. 

The mansions and cottages ringing the bay rose out of the trees and the hills, windows open to let the summer in. Lovino turned his face towards the wind, drinking in that hot July air. 

“I always forget how beautiful it is out here,” Lovino said, eyes still closed. 

“It is beautiful,” Antonio said. “I’ve always loved being on a boat on a later summer afternoon like this.” He stretched out his legs along the honey-colored wood of the deck. 

“This is where I would’ve liked to kiss you for the first time,” Lovino mused, looking over at Antonio, who laughed. He tucked his chin to his chest as he did. Lovino found it quite endearing. 

Antonio took a compass out of his pocket and held it flat in his palm, glancing up and then back at its face.

“You can read that?” Lovino asked.

“Of course I can,” he said. “It’s not hard. Come sit by me, I’ll show you.” Lovino eased himself across the boat to the bench where Antonio sat and crammed into the spot beside him. Antonio set the compass on his thigh to tend to the rudder, then returned his attention to Lovino and the compass. Their faces were so close. Lovino could see a strand of sun across Antonio’s eye, and on the hollow of his elbow. It made him glitter like stars and gold. 

“Open your hand.” Lovino offered his palm up to Antonio in that stiff way he used to give treats to his grandmother’s Hanoverians so they wouldn’t bite his fingers. Antonio set the compass in the middle of his hand, then leaned closer to explain the intercardinal points and how to take bearings. 

Lovino tried his hardest to pay attention, he did, but it was so hard with Antonio’s voice right in his ear and his fingers brushing Lovino’s hand. He felt too sensitive sitting beside him, his whole body prickling where Antonio touched him. The feeling spread down his nerves and made him shaky. 

“My dad taught me everything. This was his compass.” Antonio beamed as he took it back and slid it into his pocket. Lovino leaned against Antonio’s arm, watching the clouds drifting into the deepening blue sky above them. 

“Tell me more,” he said. “About anything you want to.” Antonio exhaled and Lovino felt it on the top of his head. He dropped the anchor and pulled the picnic basket towards them.

“Okay, but let’s have some of these, too,” Antonio said, opening the basket. He passed Lovino a plate, fork, and unfolded napkin which Lovino folded and set on his leg. While they made their way through the pastries, they told stories of cross-country train rides and skiing in the Alps and swimming in the Adriatic, balconies in Barcelona and the electrified heart of New York City streets. 

The day wore on to evening, which backlit the mansions and the people at the shore. Their laughter and yells echoed back to across the lake to Lovino, who leaned on the edge of the boat and watched their figures dart across the strips of beach. 

He laid down and put his hands behind his head, glancing at the sky and messing his hair. But his eyes hurt when he stared at the sky, so instead he focused on Antonio. He was sitting beside the rudder and looking down at the water, the wind making his hair stringy. He reached up and pushed it back, and Lovino saw his shoulders rise as he sighed. Then he turned over his shoulder and smiled at Lovino.

“What?” he asked, noticing his stare. Lovino didn’t say anything, so Antonio settled in beside him, bending his knees because the space was too cramped for him to stretch his legs out. He rolled onto his side, legs pressed to Lovino’s thighs. Lovino put his hand on Antonio’s cheek and kissed him, unhurried and easy. The sunlight had made his hand warm but his fingertips remained cold from running them along the lake. 

Lovino kissed Antonio for a long time, experimenting with his tongue and teeth. He let his hands drift a bit, but never very far. He would focus on Antonio’s body some other time; now he wanted to memorize his mouth. 

When he finally pulled away Antonio’s eyes were still closed and he had a dazed smile. “How was that for a romantic afternoon?” Antonio asked. 

“Acceptable,” Lovino said. Antonio sighed and brushed Lovino’s hair out of his eyes. He pushed himself up to raise the anchor, but Lovino stayed there on the bottom of the boat, closing his eyes against the copper sun warming his face and falling through his closed lids. 

He didn’t get up until they reached the shore, pressing his palms to the bottom to feel the lull of the water. It slipped and stuttered against the low walls, and there was a chatter of birds when they got nearer to the bank. 

Antonio secured the boat and hopped onto the dock. He offered Lovino his hand and pulled him upright fast, taking him off balance so Lovino fell against his chest. In that moment he was given a sharp awareness of Antonio’s height and the feel of his lean, warm body, which made him blush and itch. 

Lovino let go and looked away, slightly contemptuous towards Antonio; _he_ was the one who was supposed to be making _Antonio_ out of breath and red faced, not the opposite. 

They headed up to the house, where the Beilschmidts had just finished dinner. Gilbert was sitting on the deck smoking, occasionally striking with an unnerving amount of violence at the low-hovering mosquitoes. The sky was dusty and the world was deep but subtle, fireflies appearing and vanishing in the hydrangea and above the just above the grass. 

“Hey, Antonio!” Gilbert grinned. “How was your boating?” 

“Good,” Antonio said, sitting beside him. He helped himself to Gilbert’s cigarettes and handed one to Lovino. Antonio lit it for him, watching the fireflies. 

“I’m going to head in. All these damned bugs.” He shook his head and stood up to go back inside. 

“I should get home. It’s getting late,” Lovino said. He held his cigarette in his teeth as he reached out to catch a firefly in his hands. He watched it wink against the intricate details of his palm. Antonio leaned against his arm to watch it too, touching his knee to Lovino’s. The firefly flashed twice more before Lovino raised his hand to let it fly back into the gathering night. 

“Ugh. A walk home in the dark,” Lovino said. 

“Do you want a ride?” Antonio asked. 

“You can’t drive.” 

“On my bike. You can sit on the back, where the crate goes,” Antonio explained, leading him to the garage.

“You’re going to get me killed,” Lovino remarked, hopping on the back and putting his arms around Antonio’s waist and leaning against his back. Antonio found the pressure of Lovino’s forearms against his abdomen was comforting and he pushed back against it. 

“Say, Antonio, seeing as I’m about to kick it, do you remember contrition?” Antonio laughed, and Lovino felt it on his cheek.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oscar Wilde said “quotation is an adequate substitute for wit” and whatnot but that’s not going to stop me

Feliciano ran up the steps of the carriage house into the loft, where Lovino was lying on his back beneath the window, reading a book held close to his face.

“Hey, Lovi,” Feliciano said, sitting down beside him. “Are you coming with me to Ms. Héderváry’s?” Lovino shrugged, setting the book on his chest and stretching his arms behind his head. 

“I’m leaving in fifteen minutes, if you want to come.” 

Lovino rolled onto his side and propped his chin on his hand. “Are the Beilschmidts going to be there?”  
“I hope so,” Feliciano said. His smile slipped. “You’re not going to be rude to Ludwig, are you?” 

“Depends on his behavior,” Lovino said. “But that’s not why I asked. I’m going to go get dressed, I’ll drive us.” He rolled into a sitting position and went downstairs, setting his book on the desk tucked in the stacks. There was an aging wooden globe in the corner. Lovino undid the latch on the bottom and opened it, sneaking a little bottle of whisky about the length of his hand and shoving it into his pants pocket. 

Lovino drove them in Romulus’s convertible, choosing the longest possible route so he could justify driving. The wind ruined his hair and deafened him, but Feliciano loved it, reaching his hand up towards the mauve July sky. They parked in the driveway, which was host to only a few others as most of the partygoers had walked. 

Feliciano slipped through the crowd of people dancing barefoot on Elizabeta’s lawn up to the porch, where she was sitting with a glass of rosé. Roderich was standing beside her, talking to Ludwig and leaning hard on his cane. It was the first and only time in his life Lovino would be glad to see Ludwig.

“Hey!” he called to Ludwig. “Is Antonio here?” 

“Yes. He’s in the yard somewhere.” 

Lovino nodded and hurried off the steps, down onto the lawn to scan the crowd. Antonio was very near the center of the dancers, beside a trio of girls clutching their skirts and men holding sloshing glasses of champagne. It was a surreal scene, everyone dancing over the uneven grass, fireflies flashing at their ankles and in the bushes as brassy, bold jazz played behind them. 

“Antonio!” Lovino yelled. Antonio didn’t look up, so Lovino hopped down from the porch and slipped through the dancers to reach him.

“Lovino!” he cried. 

“Hey!” Lovino said, a little breathless. He beckoned Antonio away from the crowd and the noise to a spot near the edge of the porch. “You haven’t talked to me since our date.” 

“I didn’t want to annoy you,” Antonio admitted with a light blush that went unnoticed in the low light. 

“Well, consider me annoyed you didn’t call,” Lovino said. “Will you come down to the beach with me?” 

Antonio nodded and they walked around back of the house, heading down the low steps onto the shore, where the waves had calmed to a gentle lap. He plopped down on the ground and burrowed his fingers into the sand, Lovino sitting beside him and fishing in his pocket for the whisky. 

“You want some?” he asked. Antonio nodded, taking the bottle from him and enjoying a hearty swig. Lovino laid down with his hands over his stomach, looking up at the darkening sky. When Antonio passed him the bottle, he propped himself up on his forearms to take a drink. Knocking the tip of the bottle to his lip, he sighed, watching the waves. 

Antonio leaned over and kissed him on the temple. Lovino smiled against the bottle, and Antonio kissed him again. 

Lovino capped the whisky and stuck it into the sand beside him, then kissed Antonio’s cheek, grazing his lips along his jawline, down to his throat. Antonio closed his eyes at the sensation. One of Lovino’s hands drifted to his waist and the other went up his back to his nape, pulling him the slightest bit closer. He pressed his tongue flat to Antonio’s neck, making him bristle. 

“What was that?” he asked. 

“My tongue,” Lovino answered, flicking it against the tip of Antonio’s nose. Antonio scrunched it up like he was about to sneeze, then caught Lovino off guard with a kiss between the eyebrows. When Lovino looked up, Antonio took his face in his hands and smiled, simply staring. He just stared and stared because he had wanted to do so from the moment he had first seen Lovino. 

“You’re beautiful,” Antonio whispered. He sounded almost surprised, as if he had only now realized and was taken aback by how obvious it was. Lovino blushed in the dull dusk. “So beautiful,” he went on, running his hands over Lovino’s hair and linking his arms around his shoulders. “ _Molto bello_ ,” he added with a light grin. 

This broke Lovino out of his quiet, lazy enjoyment of the attention. “Where’d you learn that?” he asked. 

“Picked it up from my brother’s friend,” Antonio said with a shrug. “We went to Rome and he figured I should know how to flirt. Well, he obviously taught me _bella_ but...” Lovino felt his cheeks get hotter.

“Did… did you know what I said back at the lighthouse?” 

“I have a close guess,” he said. “Why did you think I asked you to repeat yourself?” 

“Because you are _stupid_.” 

“Don’t be nasty with me because you’re embarrassed.”

“You _bastard_.” 

Antonio kept grinning with an increased amount of smugness Lovino couldn’t stand, and he kissed him so he wouldn’t have to see it. Then he sighed and rested his forehead on Antonio’s clavicle, because he felt a little sleepy; drinking always made him feel rather heavy and tired and not anchored in reality. It wasn’t unpleasant, however, like the dissociation from a fever or a hangover. This was an easy indifference to reality, the way he felt when he had just woken up but not yet opened his eyes. 

He stayed there for a while, letting Antonio rub at the back of his neck and listening to the wind through the dunegrass. 

Finally, Lovino turned around and sat between his legs, resting his hands on Antonio’s knees and laying back against his chest while he watched the lake splash lightly at the shore in small, overlapping drifts of water. Antonio rested his arms on Lovino’s shoulders, clasping his hands over his abdomen. After a moment of rustling he set his chin on Lovino’s head, and he felt it when Antonio sighed. Lovino set his hand over Antonio’s and reached for the whisky, spinning the cap off with his teeth to take another sip. He set it back down and went on messing with Antonio’s hands, inching them slightly lower on stomach. 

“What’re you up to?” Antonio muttered.

Lovino didn’t answer, instead slipping from out under Antonio’s arms and turning around. He pushed on his knees to get him to straighten his legs and then sat on his lap.

“Kiss me, would you?” 

Antonio kissed him. He opened his mouth even though Lovino’s burned of alcohol. He liked it, how it made everything seem sharper, and he needed that acrid burn in his mouth to hold him down in this moment so he wouldn’t forget it. But he was so focused on trying to take in the details of every second that he was losing touch with them, and the more he struggled to bring himself back the harder it got, so he gave up on thinking completely. 

It made him dizzy, the closeness, the humidity of the night, Lovino’s weight on his lap. The pleasant buzz the champagne and whisky had left him made his chest feel warm, giving it an odd fullness that he would miss in the morning. There was no reason to think anyway. There was too much to feel in apparently every part of himself, even deep down under his skin, pulling at his heartstrings in a lovely languid way. 

Lovino broke away and kissed his neck again. 

“That feels nice,” Antonio muttered. It felt far better than just ‘nice,’ but coming up with a proper word would require more thought than his fogged-up mind could handle. He wanted to drown in this feeling, wanted it to fill up his lungs until there was no more oxygen to be had and he lost his mind inundated with it all. 

He chased Lovino’s lips when he finally pulled away from him. Lovino sighed and glanced over Antonio’s shoulder at the distant spill of light from the party. 

“My God, you are so hard,” Lovino said with a low laugh.

Antonio burrowed his face into Lovino’s shoulder in embarrassment. 

“Don’t be ashamed,” Lovino said gently, tilting Antonio’s face up to his. “In the words of Rainer Maria Rilke, _physical lust is a sensuous experience no different from innocently viewing something, or from the feeling of pure delight when a wonderful ripe fruit fills the tongue._ ” 

Antonio chuckled under his breath. “Do you have quotes ready for anything?” 

“I do,” Lovino said. “I’m going to go get a drink,” he added. “Care to join?” 

“Uh, well, I have to deal with this first,” Antonio said, staring at the sand. Lovino rested his hand on Antonio’s waist. 

“Do you want me to?” Antonio felt that same sort of static stomachache he had in the car, but this time it pulsed and shivered up the base of his ribcage. Left him cold. Gave him goosebumps. 

But he still considered. Despite his dissonance with Catholic values, he still thought of sex as some sort of sacrament to love and emotional intimacy. Therefore somewhere in his mind he had planned to wait for someone he really, really loved and trusted more than anyone else in the world. He couldn’t say that about Lovino, no matter how much he liked him.

Even so, that hazy plan had not included Lovino Vargas. It had not factored in this, laying back against the dunes, lips warm from his mouth and the pressure of Lovino’s hand against his waist. Nor had he thought of this anticipation that numbed his senses to everything that wasn’t him. The abstract sense of sex hanging in the air as a velvet curtain. 

Antonio wanted Lovino to touch him. It wasn’t a thought, it was that curtain brushing his fingertips, so impossibly real. Besides, this was nothing all that meaningful. He wasn’t naked, and in no way really bearing himself.

“Yes,” he finally said. Lovino glanced up over the swell of the low dune to assure there was no one nearby, then undid his trousers and laid down beside him, resting his jaw on his hand. He put a hand on Antonio’s thigh, filling him with a restless urge to move. His hand stumbled in the monochrome night light for Lovino’s and pulled it up his leg to rest just below his navel. 

He couldn’t explain Lovino’s expression. Part of it seemed nearly nervous. He slid his fingers past Antonio’s waistband, then after a moment his whole hand. Antonio sucked his breath in, which, to his surprise, made Lovino look panicked.

“Are you alright?” Lovino murmured. Antonio nodded, meeting Lovino’s eyes while he circled his thumb over his head, attempting to wet his palm and fingers with precum. “You like it fast or slow?” 

“Slow,” Antonio whispered. 

“Of course you do. Like this?” 

“I don’t care,” Antonio gasped. 

“You should.”

“Yes, like that,” Antonio cut in. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, breathing hard and hot on Lovino’s arm. Lovino took his hand back, which made Antonio whine. 

“Do you want a damn friction burn up your dick?” His voice was tense. 

“No.” Antonio was taken aback by how weak he sounded. His eyelids fluttered, adjusting to the darkness. Lovino was staring at his palm, considering. He flinched, then licked his palm wet. 

“ _Ew_ ,” he said. It was soft enough Antonio guessed he wasn’t supposed to have heard, and he didn’t really care, not now. He bit down on the tip of his tongue, digging his elbows into the sand. 

No amount of imagination could have brushed the stirring surface of this; he was burning, aching, pulled taught as if by his own veins. And all the while Lovino just kept looking down at him lazily, almost bored if it weren’t for the faint curve at the corners of his mouth. 

Antonio closed his hand around Lovino’s wrist and moved his hand faster, pushing down so hard he felt Lovino’s pulse. It was fast, almost as fast as his. He dug his nails in harder and twisted onto his side, pressing his face in the bend of Lovino’s arm. When he came he whimpered the slightest bit, laying still for several seconds to catch his breath. 

Lovino wiped his hand off in the sand, watching Antonio lie there panting. He rubbed the sand off while Antonio caught his breath, feeling something like shock.

“Come on. I want to go get a drink,” Lovino said finally, using his other one to pull Antonio upright. “Your trousers are undone,” he muttered. Antonio blushed and did them up hurriedly, following Lovino back up to Elizabeta’s house. 

He went to the bathroom, leaving Antonio to mill around with the typical over-garnished crowd. Lovino washed his hands in the dim lights, under the odd influence of some power high picturing Antonio’s face in the dark, how red he was when he came into his hand. 

Lovino splashed cold water on his hot face, then wiped the droplets off and dried his hands, surprised to see he was shaking. There was a knock on the door, so he patted his face dry and straightened his jacket. 

Antonio was gone, likely kidnapped by Gilbert. Lovino added this to the list of atrocities the Beilschmidt brothers had committed against him and went out onto the porch to enjoy some champagne. 

Lovino glanced sideways at Roderich and Elizabeta, who were sitting close, whispering and laughing with each other. Her hand was on his thigh, and he had an arm around her. The adoration in Elizabeta’s eyes was so overt it gave him an odd soreness in the stomach. He wanted someone to look at him like that. _He_ wanted to look at someone like that. That quiet intimacy held his gaze and he couldn’t take his eyes off them, even though staring seemed perverse. 

Was that how he looked at Antonio? 

Lovino shook his head the slightest bit. Antonio was leaving in a few weeks. There was no point getting close to him, because whatever promises they made when the parted about letters and phone calls and potential cross-state train rides would turn empty. Learned behavior taught him that. And he was afraid to be naive, to fall in love fast with someone solely because he hadn’t before.

He wanted to, but he shouldn’t. He craved love and feared heartbreak, and the fear stifled the desire. 

Lovino took a long drink, hoping it would settle his relentless thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

Gilbert located Antonio a little past midnight. He was on the porch, staring at the dunegrass with a dazed look leftover from the drinking and everything about Lovino. Beside him was one of the Beilschmidt’s neighbors, Emma Bruin, idly flicking her cigarette with her thumb. 

Gilbert marched up to them, dragging Marianne along with him. She had an arm through his and was giggling, tripping over her ankles while clutching the neck of an empty champagne bottle. The golden beads on her dress dulled to tarnished silver in the night. 

“Oh, Antonio!” Gilbert called. Antonio looked up. “Get up, we’re going to the Vargas’s. Feliciano invited us over for a bonfire. Help us find Lovino,” he added, grabbing Antonio by the elbow and pulling him upright. 

“I dunno where he is,” Antonio said. In truth, he had been avoiding Lovino since they had come back from the beach. He’d gone weak with guilt over not offering to do anything for Lovino, afraid he had come off as lazy or uncaring. Really he had been too stunned to think, and then Lovino had whisked him back into a very public area. 

He was still high on Lovino, all confused and heavy and happy, but hanging over it all was a raw vulnerability. He was scared to see Lovino again, though he never could have explained why. 

“Well, you’re going to help us find him,” Gilbert insisted. Antonio took the hand he offered, beckoning Emma to follow him. Finding Lovino took a great deal of tripping over people and cluttered apologies, but he wasn’t far, only on the opposite side of the yard. He was propped against the tool shed, talking to the same flapper girl from the last party at Elizabeta’s. 

She was leaning against a boy, his arm draped over her shoulder. He was giving Lovino a decidedly foul look, but Lovino could not have made it more clear he didn’t care. He offered her a cigarette. Lit it for her. 

She was beneath a gaslight, and it illuminated her heart-shaped face. She was blushing. Lovino was making her blush. Whether she was him, Antonio didn’t know, because he stood out of the light. But that didn’t matter; Antonio’s heart was already starting to bruise. He collapsed from his high and then he was all painful vulnerability. 

“Lovino!” Gilbert yelled. Lovino glanced up. “Your brother invited us to your place. Lead the way!” 

“He did _what_?” 

“Come on!” Gilbert said. “He drove back with Luddy. We’ll walk.” 

Marianne grinned at Lovino, letting go of Gilbert and grabbing his arm. “Please do,” she said. 

Lovino withdrew his arm with precision and stood beside Antonio, close enough that their hands touched. Antonio almost pulled away, but he didn’t want to. And when he thought about it, maybe Lovino hadn’t gone up to her. Perhaps that girl had approached him. Her stiff, unsmiling boyfriend was rumpled and greasy-haired, an utter foil to Lovino’s enigmatic charisma. So he became an accessory for jealousy for her to say, _look at him, he thinks I’m pretty. I could have him instead, if I wanted._

But of course she couldn’t, Antonio thought as he brushed Lovino’s hand back. 

Lovino lead them to the road, grumbling the whole time under his breath and snapping at Marianne when she tried to sidle up beside him. They skimmed along the edge of the road, Gilbert and Marianne chattering loudly. 

Halfway to the cottage Emma noticed the distant lights of some police and sprinted into the woods. Emma lost her shoe in the fray, forcing the group to fumble around in the dark looking for it in the pines and cedars. 

“This is pointless, and my feet hurt,” Marianne groaned. “Antonio, you’re strong. Carry her.” Antonio glanced at Emma. “Go on, squat so she can get on you.” He hesitated. “Squat, Antonio!” Frightened, Antonio ducked down, letting Emma grab his shoulders and hop onto his back. 

Her hair brushed his cheek when she linked her arms around his neck, and when she wiggled to get higher up on his back he felt her thighs tense under his hands. She smelled good, like white tea.

“Let’s get out of the woods,” Gilbert said. They all nodded, hopping down the hill back onto the road to continue on to the Vargas’s. The whole affair stretched out double the time it should have taken them. 

Feliciano and Ludwig sat beside a dug-out hollow in the sand where a little fire crackled, stoked by the wind off the water. They smoke had that dry, salt scent that would settle in their clothes and go stale, leaving behind a stagnant scent of woodsmoke. Almost every room in their cottage smelled of it already. 

Antonio set Emma down on the sand. She stretched her legs out, tucking her hair behind her ears. The firelight sparked off the beads on her dress and headband, making her skin look as if it had been painted in smooth, warm oils by Caravaggio’s hand. 

Lovino sat between her and Antonio. Marianne took it upon herself to lay down on top of them both, her head in Lovino’s lap and her legs stretched out over Antonio’s, crossed at the ankles. 

“Light my cigarette?” she asked Lovino, looking up through her lashes. Lovino made a point of sighing tersley before tossing her his lighter. She exhaled with obvious frustration and sat up, lighting up and then laying back against his thigh. “You were supposed to do it for me.” 

“Poor girl,” Lovino said flatly, plucking a bit of dunegrass and tossing it in the fire. 

“Don’t try and apologize now,” Marianne said with a sniff.

“He’s making fun of you, Marianne,” Gilbert said. He leaned over to poke Marianne in the ankle, then looked up at Lovino. “She’s not used to boys mocking her, so it might take you a few tries to properly piss her off.” Before Lovino could snap at him, Marianne spoke.

“Gilbert! You need to come over and talk to my mother. She thinks I have no chance with any man. You tell her, they love me, don’t they?” She grinned at Gilbert, her hair crushed against Lovino’s leg, frizzy with late night humidity. 

“Yes, they do.” 

“Right! And she says I’ll never find a husband. But it’s not that I can’t find one, it’s that men are so stupid, I can’t stand them. And as fun as it is to mess around and neck beautiful, stupid men, I can’t imagine having to sleep with just one of those men for the rest of my life. I would go absolutely feral and have affairs every night of the week until I died.” 

“Oh my,” Emma murmured, but she seemed amused. Antonio stared at Marianne. He had never heard a girl talk like that, but it seemed normal to them, because no one else in the party looked even a little startled. 

“Emma, that’s your name, right? Emma?” Marianne started, rolling onto her stomach. Emma nodded. “Lovely little Emma, don’t listen to any of that rot they tell you,” she pointed with her cigarette. “Learn to have fun. Men are so desperate, you can have anyone you want.”

“Hey!” Gilbert said. “That’s not true. We are not desperate.” 

“Oh, sweet Gilbert.” Marianne sat up. “I just drank vodka and smoked but you would still kiss me if I offered, wouldn’t you?” 

Gilbert shrugged.“Well, I mean… If you _offered_ …” Marianne shook her head and laid her head back in Lovino’s lap. He shoved her head down onto his knee and fished out the little bottle of whisky in his coat. She snatched it and took a sip.

“Fuck you!” Lovino yelled, taking it back. 

“You are so mean,” she complained. 

“You’re pissing me off. You just stole my alcohol and you’re treating me like a goddamn couch.”

“Oh, don’t get angry, you’re not as pretty,” Marianne said. Lovino flushed and pulled his legs up to his chest, uprooting her. Disgruntled, she crawled over to Antonio and curled up beside him, which only irritated Lovino more. 

“Why would you _want_ to have an affair?” Feliciano asked. “Wouldn’t you want to be happy with someone?” 

Marianne sat up. “Forget you, Lovino, I want your brother.” Gilbert pushed her back down. She wrapped Antonio’s arm around her chest and sulked there against his side, mollified for the time being. Lovino wanted to fling sand at her, seeing her all cozied up to him. 

“I want love like my parents had. My dad loved my mom so much, I used to see them dancing in the living room to the radio, and they were always holding hands, and making each other laugh…” he trailed off. He was smiling, but there was a twinge of something in his expression that seemed off.

“I hope the man I end up with is as sweet as you, Feliciano,” Emma said. Feliciano smiled at her. “I sometimes think about that, how the person I’m going to marry is out there somewhere, and someday I’m going to meet him and fall in love.” 

“You don’t know he’s out there,” Gilbert said with a forming grin. “Maybe he hasn’t been born yet. Maybe when you’re old you’re going to get a really young husband.” 

“ _Gross_ ,” Emma said. 

“No, not gross. _Intriguing_ ,” Marianne cut in. “Though don’t get too excited, it’s always the young hot ones who are horrific at sex. Think they’re a gift from the gods and would rather oggle themselves than try to do anything for you. Although, _they are_ relatively easy to teach.” Antonio blinked, taken aback by her casualness. Not even the boys at his boarding schools had spoken about sex like that, with no sense of delicacy or embarrassment. 

“I wish I didn’t _have_ to teach them,” Emma said. “I wish I didn’t have to worry about that at all, or romance, or whatever else… Everything feels so _complicated_ now. Am I crazy, or was it not like this before?” 

“It wasn’t,” Antonio said. He glanced at Lovino, who was staring at the fire. He missed the simplicity of being young and stupid, when anything dangerous or difficult seemed distant, mythical, altogether not his to worry about. He missed running around the squares in Alicante with his friends, not think about passing time, not imagining that things would ever be any different. 

Lovino felt the same as he stared at the wind-stoked flames. Time was all he thought about now. And every type of relationship he had, particularly with his haphazard friends in New York. He wondered if he could call them friends; all they did was smoke in silence on the fire escapes outside their apartments as the sun went down, not talking because none of them would agree on anything. 

He pulled his knees to his chest and glanced at Antonio, catching him staring. Antonio looked away. He did too. 

Now the conversation had dwindled, the exhausted, drunken air weighed down on them all. The silence went on as they watched the embers break out from logs and hurry up towards the dark sky before dying and falling back to the earth.

“Well, we should be getting home,” Gilbert said, turning to Ludwig. Ludwig sighed and nodded, getting to his feet. 

“Well, I’m going for a swim before I go home,” Marianne decided. “Antonio, unzip my dress, would you?” 

“Uh, that… Why don’t you ask Emma?” he blushed. Marianne grinned and turned around, bracing her hands on his thighs. 

“Shy?” She laughed. “Come on, Antonio, be a dear and take my dress off.” Antonio glanced at Lovino for help, but he was focused on glaring at her. 

“O-okay,” Antonio stuttered. Marianne turned around and he undid the button below the nape of her neck, then the zipper. She stood up to step out of it, smiling down at Antonio, who was looking away. 

“You’re so cute,” she murmured, crouching down beside him to kiss him on the cheek. Antonio stiffened, glancing at Lovino. He muttered a curse at Marianne. “Anyone care to join me?” Feliciano nodded, jumping up as Emma scrambled up as well. Antonio considered staying on the beach with Lovino, but he still felt a hesitant fear to be alone with him and so he got up and kicked off his own clothes. 

He followed Emma out onto the dock. “Will you jump in with me?” she asked as he glanced at the ebony water, stirred up in white lace from where Gilbert had jumped in. Antonio nodded. She grinned and held her nose, then jumped into the lake. Antonio jumped in after her, followed by Marianne, who immediately resurfaced and yelped.

“It’s cold!” she whined. “I suppose that’s better. My tits look much better cold.” Gilbert splashed her in the face, holding her back from going after Antonio. She was right; the water was freezing and Antonio had no tolerance for the cold, so he swam back to the dock, clambering back up onto the wood. Lovino was beside the fire, a suggestion of a person through the smoke and heat ripples. He stole himself and walked back up the beach, sitting beside Lovino.

“Hey,” he muttered. 

“Hey,” Lovino said. He sounded a little mocking, though maybe Antonio was imagining it out of fear. 

“I’m… I’m sorry I disappeared. And I’m sorry I didn’t offer to get you off or anything, I was… I mean…” Lovino shook it off. 

“Don’t worry. Plenty of later opportunities,” he said. Antonio nodded. 

“Still, it was pretty assholey of me to not. I mean, I feel like I owe it to you.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Antonio nodded. They sat in silence, listening to the others splashing around and yelling. They ended up drying off by sitting on the end of the dock to dry off in the night wind, eventually returning to the fire to get dressed. 

“Walk me home, Gilbert,” Marianne said. 

Emma glanced over at Antonio. “Will you walk with me, Antonio?” she asked. 

“Sure,” Antonio said, getting to his feet.

Lovino caught his wrist. “Can I come see you tomorrow morning?” he asked in Spanish. Antonio nodded. 

He walked up the beach with her, and when they got to the driveway, he crouched down and let her get on his back. 

It was a long walk and he was very tempted to set her down and make her walk the last few meters, but he didn’t want to make her limp along the road half-barefoot. She fell asleep on the way over, and he had to rouse her gently before finally setting her down on the porch. She blinked at him sleepily. 

“Goodnight,” she muttered. “Thank you for taking me home.” He nodded, and she quietly opened the door. 

As Antonio walked towards the Beilschmidts’, his tired mind turned the night over. Lovino, kissing him on the beach with that burn of whisky on his tongue, the starkness of his touch. But then he thought of that blushing girl, standing in the lamplight, and how he couldn’t know how Lovino had been looking at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✨Today’s my one-year anniversary of posting on Ao3, whoo!✨
> 
> I feel like I don’t thank my readers enough, so: thank you so much !! Being able to share my writing has given me something to look forward to even when I’m feeling pretty shitty and really encouraged me to improve 
> 
> Also, I really want to write some one shots, so drop on by my inbox if you're inclined (https://lady--lisa.tumblr.com) I’m happy to write nsfw as long as the horny police don’t catch me


	8. Chapter 8

Lovino woke up the following morning sure he wasn’t that hungover and would be able to go see Antonio as planned. That was before he threw up twice in the shower, which was enough to convince him to reserve plans for another day. After going through considerable character building having to clean up his own vomit, he called Antonio. 

His palms got sweaty as he gripped the phone, though why he didn’t know. Perhaps just the thought of Antonio was enough to get him nervous now. He took a sip from his jar of pickles. It was a wonderful solution to the side effects of drinking, but nearly made him sick all over again. 

Antonio finally answered, his voice dry from sleep. Lovino had intended only to tell him he wouldn’t be able to come by, but they ended up talking until the sun was nearly halfway in the sky, bleeding into the foyer beneath Lovino’s feet. 

The next day was both free of vomit and pickle juice, so Lovino walked to the Beildschmidt’s cottage. Antonio opened the door when he knocked, and simply seeing him made Lovino blush. It took him aback, being so weak for him. Even scared him a little. 

“Oh, hi,” he said. “Emma’s over. Do you want to make bread with us?” Lovino nodded, digging his hands into his pockets. “I was complaining to her about American bread and we decided to make a proper loaf. I remember in Spain, there was a bakery right around the corner and I could go there with a handful of _pesetas_ and bring back a few fresh rolls for cheap.” He gave a wistful sigh as they walked into the kitchen, where Emma was rummaging through the cupboard on her tiptoes. 

“Hi, Lovino,” she said, smiling and giving him a little wave. “Antonio, what’s the water at?” Antonio squinted at her in confusion. “The temperature,” she clarified.

“Oh, right,” he said, picking up a thermometer from beside the sink and putting it in the kettle on the stove. “Forty-four degrees Celsius to Fahrenheit. Let’s see, it’s plus thirty-two, times five into nine… five into nine is… well, five into ten is one half, so it’s probably about one half—”

“Forty-four degrees Celsius is one-hundred and eleven in Fahrenheit,” Lovino interrupted.

“I was trying,” Antonio said. 

“No, Antonio, you were embarrassing yourself,” Lovino said, getting a little twitch of amusement around the mouth. He hopped onto the counter beside Antonio, reaching to help Emma reach the flour. 

“Don’t turn the stove off yet,” she said to Antonio. “It was to be exactly one-hundred and twelve to make the yeast happy.” 

“It’s _yeast_ ,” Lovino said. “We make bread all the time and so long as the water is warm, the yeast get along just fine. But, if you really insist—” Emma nodded pointedly. “That girl is serious about her bread,” Lovino murmured in Spanish. Antonio nodded. 

“ _Sí_ ,” Emma said. They both gave her a baffled look. “Oh, did that make sense? I have no idea what you just said, that’s the only word I know in Spanish. I was messing with you.” She laughed. “You’re cutting my out of the conversation, that’s rude.” She gave Lovino a hard poke in the chest and he looked away, blushing. 

“Can you too get the dry ingredients together?” she added. Antonio nodded, picking up the flour and hefting it over to the counter space not occupied by Lovino. Antonio set the bowl down beside Lovino’s leg. 

“Get down and help me measure the flour. I need your brain.” 

“No. It’ll get on my pants,” Lovino sniffed, then yelped as Emma balled-up her apron and threw it at him. 

“Put that on,” she said. Lovino gave a look of distaste at both of them before getting down and tying the apron around his waist with a grimace. “Great. Now you can convert the measurements for Antonio. You look darling in that, by the way.” She laughed again and patted him on the head. Lovino was starting to feel as if this whole afternoon had been orchestrated for his embarrassment. 

There wasn’t a tremendous amount of counter space in the kitchen, which led to a mess of arguments that only ended after the proofing yeast was almost spilled by a wildly gesticulating Lovino. This caused Emma to banish them both to the table and working on the dough by herself. Lovino had never seen someone look as determined as her working the dough, her cheeks red and slightly puffed out, brow knitted. 

“Let me help,” Lovino said. “You’re going to make yourself sore.” 

Emma looked him over. “I don’t mean any offense, but I can’t imagine you wouldn’t tear a muscle doing this. But I would like some help, could you do it, Antonio?” Lovino spluttered.

“I would _not_ ,” he spluttered. Antonio nodded and took her spot by the dough. Emma stood beside Lovino.

“Roll your sleeve up,” she said. Lovino frowned but did as she said. “Alright, your biceps are a little bigger than mine, but just barely.”

Lovino scowled and yanked it back down. “Have you done enough emasculating me today?” 

“Aw, Lovino, don’t be upset, I’m just teasing!” she insisted. Antonio grinned over his shoulder. 

“He doesn’t take taunts very well, but he’ll get over it.” 

“Oh shut up,” Lovino snapped. “And thanks to that, no, I will not get over it.” He went on grumbling under his breath, sitting back down. “Incidentally, both of you should know that I am not weak, I’m just _wiry_.” Emma looked at Antonio, who looked back at her, before they both burst out laughing. Lovino deepened his sulking, digging his chin into his hand. 

Once his frustration had calmed some, his attention went back to Antonio, specifically the shift of tendons and muscle in his forearms and how his shoulder blades moved under his shirt. Lovino got up as if he were interested in the developing gluten. He glanced at Emma, preoccupied with trying to open the porch window, then murmured in Spanish, “you look very hot doing that.” 

“ _What_? I am _kneading bread_.” 

“I know,” Lovino said. “It’s the clothes. Normally your fashion is horrific but that shirt is doing wonders for your back and arms. Nothing turns me on like properly-fitting clothes.” 

“There is bread to be made and all you can do is be horny,” Antonio complained. 

“Learn to see the subtle eroticisms of the world, Antonio. You’d be surprised what a lustful experience making bread can really be.” 

Antonio stilled his hands and fixed Lovino with a stare. “If you keep talking to me like this I’m going to walk into the middle of the lake and just stay there. Forever. And drown.” Lovino smirked at his red face, but before he could go on Emma had slipped between them to check on Antonio’s progress. 

“Looks good, don’t overdo it,” she said. 

“I believe you mean don’t over _dough_ it,” Lovino said. Emma froze and fixed him with a stare. 

“Alright, that’s it.” She threw up her hands. “Antonio, grab him, we’re throwing him in the lake.” Lovino skittered away from Antonio, holding up a warning finger, but Emma snatched him from behind. He didn’t fight her back, just blushed in irritation or embarrassment while she gave it her all trying to lift him. Finally she puffed at her cheeks and gave up, sighing.

“I honestly expected you to be able to lift him,” Antonio said. “He looks so light, like a little _mollete_.” He hefted Lovino off his feet, laughing even as Lovino struggled violently to free himself.

“Hey! Release me! I’m not here to entertain you, I hate you both!” Antonio set him back down, and Lovino hated his little smile. He also hated how badly he wanted Antonio to pick him up again. Instead he fixed his shirt and stalked outside, intent to go sit on the pier while the bread rose. 

Emma and Antonio came outside with him. Antonio took his shirt off and lay back on the dock with his legs hanging over the edge in the swelling waves, arms over his eyes. Emma sat with her legs crossed, pushing her skirt down in her lap and looking across the lake at the trees. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the waves. 

“So, Lovino. Antonio tells me you’re from Marsala,” Emma said. Lovino nodded, crossing his legs too and leaning back against one of the dock’s end posts. 

“Did he?” 

“He’s told me lots about you,” Emma said. Lovino chanced one look at Antonio, who was beginning to look comatose. He wished he could have kept on staring; he looked so gorgeous in the sun. It made Lovino hurt. 

“Like what?” Lovino asked. 

“That he’s so glad he met you, because otherwise he would probably be too traumatized from Texas to talk to anyone up here. I believe that; when I first met him in June he was _so_ shy and seemed sort of sad. He’s also said that he thinks you’re really funny, which… I mean, you have yet to be funny in front of me but I get it, you can’t be on everyday, it would be exhausting.” 

“Him? Sad?” Lovino raised an eyebrow.

“I know,” Emma said. “What’s Marsala like? I’ve never been to Italy."

“It’s in Sicily, on the ocean. The beaches were beautiful. We lived near the lagoon, so my brother and I used to go out there in the mornings when it was still cool. It wasn’t too humid there, not like here.”

“Your brother is adorable,” Emma said. Lovino rolled his eyes and made a face. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. He’s just so cute, I want to give him a hug.” 

“Yeah, everyone thinks Feli’s the cutest. Little shit,” he added under his breath, flicking some wood into the lake. 

“Do you want me to tell you that you’re cute too?” Emma asked with a faux sigh. 

“Asking if you can lie to my face…” he said, shaking his head. 

“No, really, you look like you could be huggable,” Emma said. “May I?” Lovino gave a begrudging nod and raised an arm to let her hug him. He glanced at Antonio, who seemed less and less alive as the seconds went on. 

“You have a very comfortable chest," Emma noted, tucking her cheek against it before letting go. “When did you come to America, anyway?” 

“1920,” Lovino said. "But then we were in Argentina until 1924." 

“Oh, so you were still in Italy during the war?” Lovino nodded. 

“I was too young to fight, obviously, but my papa hadn’t done his military service yet, so he did. The men who were in his squadron said he was very brave.” Lovino stared at his hands, picking at the uneven planks, weathered and softened. “He must have been. He had the Military Valor and Allied Victory medals, plus the War Merit Cross.” Lovino dug his nail deeper into the wood. “Did your papa fight?” he asked. She nodded. 

“Yes, and one of my brothers. Abel came home. My dad…” Now she looked at the boards beneath them. “Two months after he got to France, someone sent us a letter. They said he died in a foxhole waiting for reinforcements that didn’t come.” She exhaled shakily. “Ah, I shouldn’t have asked. I ruined the pleasant afternoon.” 

Lovino shook his head. “Don’t feel bad. I doubt there’s anyone who wasn’t affect by it, except maybe this bastard.” Lovino poked Antonio above the navel, and he yelped and sat up. “Did you fall asleep?” 

“Maybe? What time is it?” 

“About time to put the bread in, I’d think,” Emma said. They shuffled back into the house, Antonio clumsily doing the buttons of his shirt. They lingered in the kitchen, waiting for the timer to go off. Then Emma pulled out the risen dough, checking the oven. Antonio’s eyes brightened and he reached forward to touch it, but Lovino caught his wrist. Defeated, Antonio leaned down to give it a good sniff. 

“I love the smell of bread dough,” he muttered. 

“ _Why_?” Lovino asked. While he was distracted trying to comprehend this, Antonio freed himself and gave the dough a hard poke. 

“Antonio,” Emma groaned. 

“Finally, get him, Emma,” Lovino said. “Should be easy with his stupid…” he trailed off, meeting Antonio’s eyes, trying to ignore that trademark sunkiss on his cheeks and how his hair dropped down across his forehead. “...Stupid face." 

“I think he has a wonderful face,” Emma said. She patted him on the cheek. 

“Thank you,” Antonio said, giving Emma a glowing smile. Lovino gave him a look when she turned around to put the loaf in. He liked Emma, but if she started getting more than friendly with Antonio he would be tempted to shut the whole friendship down. 

They went outside on the lawn while the bread baked, lounging in the grass. Lovino closed his eyes, lulled off to something like sleep by the distant sound of the slowing waves beneath Emma and Antonio’s chatter. Antonio woke him when the bread was done, and they cut thick slices off the cooled loaf, sitting on the dock to eat them. 

Emma’s brother came to collect her in early evening, leaving Antonio and Lovino alone on the pier. 

“What have you been telling Emma about me?” he asked. Antonio shrugged. “She said you told her I was _funny_. What kind of lies have you been feeding her?” 

“You are. I’ve… I’ve just been telling her how much I like you.” 

“Oh, now don’t go falling in love with me now,” Lovino said. 

“R-right,” Antonio stammered. What had Lovino meant by that? Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do in a relationship? But before he could start ruminating on it, Lovino stretched, announcing he had to be getting home. He pecked Antonio on the cheek and waved goodbye, heading back for the road. 

Antonio stared down at the water. _Was_ he in a relationship with Lovino? He sure thought so; they’d been on a date, and Lovino had just kissed him goodbye. Maybe he had just been teasing in his unfunny, Lovino-like way. No need to worry. 

He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He glanced back at Lovino, standing poised on the end of the driveway, looking up at the deepening evening sky. Antonio looked up too. He stared at that endless expanse for a long time, where it opened up and fell near the treetops across the water. And as he did, he prayed that Lovino Vargas wasn’t going to break his heart. 


	9. Chapter 9

The rain came yet again on Saturday, and the cold front the storm swept in after left the air chilly despite the lateness of summer. Lovino made a fire in hearth, sitting sideways in an armchair beside the window, glancing over the top of his book out the rain-flecked windows. The scene outside was pewter and silver, the scenery dark iron.

“Play it without the pedals,” Roderich was saying to Feliciano. He sat in the stiff chair beside the piano, scrutinizing his playing. Lovino hardly heard his mistakes, but everytime he finished a measure Roderich could find something to criticize. While he listened, Lovino closed his eyes and left his open book on his chest. 

“Here, let me play it. I’ll show you what I’m talking about,” Roderich said. The music stopped, replaced by a shuffle and creak as Feliciano switched places with him. A few more seconds of silence while Roderich studied the score, then began to play. His playing held a certain magnetism, not only because of how skilled he was with the piano, but they way he moved when he did. His fingers danced and wound over the keys, and he leaned nearer as he played softer, moving in time to the rhythm in some subtle, swaying way. 

“What song is that?” Lovino asked. 

“ _Piano Sonata No. 16 in C Major, Allegro_ ,” Roderich replied without a second’s hesitation, not halting his playing. Lovino nodded and focused on the music. He missed the sound of each pitch as it changed to the next, grew melancholic as the piece reached its middle. Perhaps Roderich felt the same, because he transitioned to the beginning of the song and started over. 

He played the final note with a certain effusiveness, then the piano bench creaked again as he leaned back. 

“You have the pitches, focus on the dynamics. Think about the story you’re trying to tell.” 

“Right…” Feliciano sat down to play it again, but Roderich got to his feet and took his cane from where it leaned against the wall. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was three already.”

  
“It’s a quarter past,” Roderich said. “I was certain Gilbert would be late, so I assumed I may as well use his truancy to give you extra time.”

“You can’t walk?” Lovino asked, glancing over his shoulder. 

“Not since I took a bullet in the hip, no,” Roderich said. "Neither can I drive properly." There was a knock on the door, and Feliciano grinned and scurried over to open it. 

“Ludwig!” he said brightly. Lovino groaned and dropped his book on his face, surrounded by a pleasant sepia darkness and aged-paper smell. Then he heard Antonio’s voice.

“Gilbert said it was okay if I came along, but I don’t want to be rude.” Lovino decided Gilbert's actions warranted removing one thing off the Beilschmidt atrocity list. 

“No, of course not!” Feliciano said. He turned and smiled at Lovino, who had surfaced from the book and was leaning on the back of the chair. Roderich limped outside into the rain, out to Gilbert’s waiting car. Antonio and Ludwig stood in the foyer, getting their coats off. Feliciano took Ludwig’s for him, which made Lovino narrow his eyes. He swung himself out of the chair and walked over to Antonio. 

“Let’s go to the lighthouse,” he suggested. 

“Ooh, Ludwig and I will go too!” Feliciano said. “He’s never seen it, but I keep meaning to show him.” Lovino pinched his eyes shut and huffed, fishing his coat out of the closet. Lovino and Antonio strayed behind Feliciano and Ludwig. Antonio listened to the rain on the plants and the roof behind them, searching for the varying depths of the sounds. 

Lovino unlocked it for them and then went inside, settling on the dusty cement floor. The place was drafty and Feliciano complained of the cold. 

“You should’ve brought a jacket,” Lovino said. Feliciano sighed. Ludwig offered Feliciano his, and he took it gratefully, nestling into the warm fabric and holding it around himself like a blanket. Lovino glared at Ludwig, trying to let him know he was well aware of the game he was playing. He picked at the loose bits of concrete between the bricks. 

Feliciano snuggled further into Ludwig’s coat as he began an idle conversation that Lovino wasn’t listening to; he was focused on straining to hear the waves and what might have been the creak and groan of moored boats. Antonio laughed at something Feliciano had said. Lovino loved his laugh, and the way it sounded here where it had a full, warm reverb. 

“I wish I could spend every day like this,” Feliciano said. Lovino scoffed. “What?” 

“You would get bored,” he said, still picking at the spaces between the bricks. “Doing the same thing day in and day out? You’d lose your mind.” Feliciano shook his head, sitting forward and clutching the coat lapels. 

“ _You_ would. I wouldn’t,” he insisted. “I love the piano, and coffee, and painting and being with people. If I spend every day doing those things, then I’ll have lived a good life.” He smiled, and Lovino frowned deeper. 

“Don’t make me seem like a selfish shit-wit,” he snapped. 

“I’m not! There’s nothing wrong with wanting new experiences,” he insisted. “Lovi… don’t be so defensive. You like to live life to the fullest, there’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“I’m not being defensive,” Lovino shot back. 

“I think your brother’s right,” Ludwig said. Lovino rolled a bit of cement between his hands, considering flinging it into Ludwig’s eye for that comment. Instead he set it on the floor and flicked it, sending it skittering to the opposite wall. 

“You can always run away to Paris with me,” Feliciano said. Lovino groaned. He did not want to be subject yet again to his brother’s romanticized plans for the future. He had heard several versions, usually including running off to Paris and living with a clan of up-and-coming artists from a variety of countries in a hostel near the city centre, having several love affairs, and sneaking into the Louvre at midnight to consult the Mona Lisa. 

Lightning flashed on the upper floors through the window, and a moment later there was a sharp crack of thunder. Antonio eased a few inches closer to Lovino. They heard the rain get heavier and tap the windows harder. 

“You don’t need to figure your life plan out now,” Antonio said, putting a hand on Lovino’s arm. 

“Well, I _want_ to,” Lovino insisted, flicking more bits of concrete across the floor. 

“Make it your life goal to decide the meaning of it,” Antonio suggested, taking his hand back. Lovino wished he hadn’t. 

“Mm, nice try, but no,” he said. Feliciano turned to Ludwig, who was rubbing at a spot on his shoe with his sleeve. 

“What about you, Ludwig?” he asked.

“I agree with Lovino,” Ludwig said. Lovino stared. “I do. I’d like to have my life figured out sooner rather than later. Productivity is what makes the days feel worthwhile to me.” Feliciano raised his eyebrows. “Really. I can’t enjoy relaxing unless I’ve been plenty productive before hand.” 

“You two are no fun,” Antonio said. 

“Bullshit. No one is more fun than me or Ludwig,” Lovino said with so much ferocity that Feliciano and Antonio burst out laughing. It echoed warmly in that big, empty lighthouse, drowning out the rain and low rumbles of thunder. Hearing them laugh made Ludwig grin awkwardly, and Lovino almost smiled. He was struck with a kind of desperation then to preserve this moment, turn it into something tangible to slip into his pocket or set beside the lamp on his bedside table. 

“Can we talk about what Lovino said earlier?” Antonio asked when he had stopped laughing. “Did you call yourself a shit-wit? Because I never heard _that_ before.” 

“What I will say for American English is the versatility of the profanity,” he said. “Very flexible, very springy, profoundly elegant.” 

“Profanity isn’t elegant,” Feliciano said.

“It is if you do it properly,” Lovino replied with a sniff. 

“Which you don’t,” Antonio teased.

“Shut up, virgin,” Lovino said. 

“I assume all of us are,” Antonio said pointedly. 

Feliciano shook his head. “I’m not,” he said without looking up from sweeping a small pile of dust together. Antonio, Lovino, and Ludwig stared at him. Feliciano glanced up at them. “Lovi, you look so funny,” he said, laughing a bit. “You shouldn’t be surprised. I had a girlfriend back in Long Island, remember? We were home alone all the time, what did you think we were doing?” 

Lovino’s response to that question would have been: _not that_ , but he didn’t say so. “Feliciano, you were fifteen.” Feliciano shrugged. Lovino put his face in his hands. “I need a moment. Please change the subject,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“You… you aren’t going to tell us anything?” Antonio asked, lowering his voice and glancing sideways as though worried that a nun might emerge from the shadows to beat his knuckles with the metal side of a ruler. 

“ _No_ , he is not,” Lovino said. “He’s my little brother, I don’t want to hear that shit, that’s disgusting. Also, Antonio, why the hell are you asking Feliciano for details when you seemed so scandalized by hearing about Martína?” 

Feliciano sat up straighter. “Martína? Hernandez, you mean?” he asked, getting a mischievous grin. “She was _so_ pretty. What happened with her?” Now Lovino sat up a little straighter, balancing his forearms on his knees. His whole demeanor morphed. 

“Well… I liked her quite a bit, but nothing was ever going to happen between us. She was a lot of fun nonetheless. We used to sneak out and go around downtown Salta almost every night in August. Even got into a few bars. She could kiss like nobody’s business, and Feli, you’re right, my God was she pretty.” Lovino shifted his weight. 

Martína had taken him around Salta only one night and kissed him only once, in the furthest, darkest corner of some dimly-lit bar, by the bathrooms. It had smelled of cheap soap and alcohol, but in that instant they became Lovino’s favorite scents in the world. 

When they first met, it seemed Martína had admired him somewhat. And because Lovino had never gotten any real romantic attention before, he became enamored with her. Her voice, her long hair that was always pinned up except for the one day it wasn’t. Her blouses and skirts had a lingering drugstore perfume on them, something floral that Lovino couldn’t name but could still remember now if he focused hard enough. But then she lost interest in him. He became little else but a business partner’s son she had to tutor, and when she lost interest, so did Lovino. 

But Antonio didn't know that. He didn't know that one kiss in the dingy bar seedy enough to let two teenagers in was the culmination of their relationship. 

He felt a bit angry at Lovino for speaking so candidly while he was sitting right there beside him. Yet he almost wanted Lovino to elaborate; he had thought about her day after day. All he ever heard of her were snatches so she became something almost mythical. The mystery only added to Antonio’s desperation to know more about this girl who had been Lovino’s first love, probably his first heartbreak, maybe all of his other firsts too. 

Antonio knew it shouldn’t, but thinking about her made him burn with possessiveness over Lovino. Jealousy pulled at the feeling, making them both fester and swell. Antonio wanted to be Lovino’s first love, like Lovino was his, and his first kiss and first everything else. 

And the way Lovino talked about her didn’t sit well with him at all, with the braggadocio of Alexander the Great speaking to his generals about a lucrative conquest. Was he going to turn out like that too? He listed hard on the wall as he imagined Lovino sitting shoulder to shoulder with some faded, pretty face, discussing Antonio as though he were a very handsome strip of land by the seaside that was an ample place for a naval base and trading ports. 

Antonio shook it off. He shouldn’t worry about it. Whatever they had, it was nothing like what Lovino had had with Martína, surely. He had no real way of knowing that, but he believed it so hard it became the truth. But then Lovino’s words surfaced in his head. 

_Now don’t go falling in love with me now._

Lovino was smiling the faintest bit now, though the smile was really his smug expression. Antonio loved the sound of his voice, his uncertain East Coast accent, and how his clothes folded around his shoulders and hung off his back. 

Antonio couldn’t stop looking at him. He never wanted to. He wanted to sit there and stare at Lovino until he finally looked over, smiled, and kissed him like he had when his mouth was hot with whisky. Would anyone else ever kiss him like that? Even if they could, Antonio didn’t want to know. He wanted Lovino to be the only one. 

Antonio stared at the floor. Who had she been to Lovino? Who was _he_ to Lovino? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick anecdote:
> 
> Lovino / Martína’s relationship is LOOSELY inspired on the Argentine president Juan Perón’s admiration of Mussolini, specifically his rise to power. I haven't studied Perón enough to form an opinion over whether he was fascist, but he certainly was impressed by Mussolini and Hitler's government takeovers. He said of Mussolini: ”[He] was the greatest man of our century, but he committed certain disastrous errors. I, who have the advantage of his precedent before me, shall follow in his footsteps but also avoid his errors” (A History of Fascism, Payne, 348). Italy subsequently had a steelier reaction to both him and his wife due to his conations to the dictator


	10. Chapter 10

Antonio hopped down the low slope to the Vargas’s stretch of beach, heading for the narrow dock where Lovino sat with an open book across his legs and a bowl of gelato held against the chest. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of Antonio’s footsteps, and when Lovino saw him he smiled the slightest bit. Just at the sight of him. It made Antonio grin like a fool back at him. 

“Afternoon,” Lovino said, standing up and brushing his pants off. “Do you want some gelato? Feli made it.” 

“Sure.” The day was already so hot the alway-damp driftwood path was almost dry underfoot. Antonio tried to crush his hair back in to place as they walked up to the cottage, wiping the dewey sweat off his face with his shirt. The kitchen was salvation after the heat and raspy whine of cicadas, cool and mostly quiet but for the radio in the living room. 

Antonio collapsed on the tiled floor with his arms out, sighing happily. 

“Disgusting,” Lovino said.

Antonio opened his eyes and tipped his head back to look up. “Try it. It’s excellent.” 

“No.” Lovino went to the ice box to take out the gelato to get some for Antonio. He crouched down and poked him on the cheek with the back of a spoon until Antonio got up and took the bowl from him, settling at the table by the open window. The wind pushed at the loose bits of his hair and his collar, showing more of that light sunburn beneath his clavicle and the thin chain of his necklace. 

“Did Feli really make this?” 

“Yes. He made me drive him to the market at five AM to get the berries, said that was the only way he could get the good ones or he would have to fight someone. But I can’t imagine Feli throwing himself into any altercation, least of all for strawberries.

“Funnily enough, I can _only_ imagine Feliciano getting into a fight if it involved fresh produce,” Antonio replied. Lovino laughed, and it took Antonio aback. He realized them he didn’t think he had ever gotten Lovino to laugh like that. He looked so happy, more like Feliciano’s brother and Romulus’s son with his charismatic smile. 

But then he turned away, helping himself to the carton of strawberries. They were small and not particularly sweet, but Lovino loved them. They were his favorite part of summer.

“Catch,” he said suddenly, spinning around and throwing one at Antonio. Antonio leaned forward, but wasn’t quick enough and it landed on the floor. “Better luck this time.” Lovino threw another underneath his arm, this one hitting Antonio’s chest. He set his bowl down and grinned, getting to his feet. 

Lovino smiled. “Try again.” He flung a third strawberry slice and Antonio caught it in his mouth, enjoying the burst of tart sweetness as he bit down. “Throw me another, I’m ready,” he said. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together while Lovino cut a third and tossed it. Antonio missed again. 

“I’ll get the next one.” 

“You’re making me waste fruit,” Lovino complained. “Absolutely no more.” 

“Just one?” Antonio pleaded. Lovino sighed and gave in, shaking his head when he failed again. 

“Come here,” he said. Antonio obliged. “Open you mouth.” Lovino placed a halved strawberry on his tongue. “There. Do you want to back down to the beach? To go swimming?” Antonio nodded, so Lovino put his bowl in the sink and fished some towels out of the linen closet in the foyer. 

“I need to start bringing a bathing suit around here,” Antonio said. 

“Just swim in your underwear like everyone else.” He pretended to be focused on laying out his towel while he watched Antonio pull his shirt over his head and kick off his trousers, following him into the waves. While Antonio swam, Lovino stayed on the shore with his hands braced on his thighs, focused on the array of stones below the unhurried waves. 

“Watcha looking for?” Antonio asked. 

Lovino held out his hand. “Petoskey stones,” he said. In the hollow of his palm was a round, smooth rock, draped in a hexagonal sunburst sort of pattern. “You take it, I’ve got about a hundred,” he added, dropping it into Antonio’s hand. Antonio ran up the beach to leave it with his clothes, then went back in. 

Lovino went on hunting for them, amassing a handful that he left on the corner of his towel before swimming out to meet Antonio. He took him to the sandbar where it was so shallow the lake only came up to the middle of their calves. The distant waterfront was a line of gold and dunegrass. Behind the dunes was the forest of cedars and pines and maples that bordered the Vargas’s cottage, which looked quite cozy all tucked away in the trees. 

Lovino laid on his towel in the sun to dry off, Antonio collapsing beside him. He lit a cigarette, which he handed to Antonio, and proceeded to light one for himself. He didn’t really want to smoking in the heat, but he needed something else to focus on beside Antonio, who was very nearly naked. Lovino rolled onto his stomach to look away, ignoring the prickle under his skin. 

But he couldn’t help staring. The sun hit the droplets on Antonio’s stomach and came to rest the soft indentations of his collarbones and the grooves of muscle above his ribs. Antonio reached out and ran his fingers down Antonio’s chest, then back up, tapping the notch between his clavicle. Antonio opened his eyes but didn’t say anything. 

“I have a feeling your shorts will dry off quick in this heat.” Antonio nodded. “And after that… what do you want to do?” he asked, pushing Antonio’s wet hair off his forehead. 

“Um, what did you have in mind?” 

“Something along the lines of an oscar Wilde quote.” Antonio scoffed. “Do not scoff at me,” Lovino went on pointedly. Now he touched Antonio’s cheek, grazing his earlobe. “De Profundis: _Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling, and_ Domine non sum dignus _should be on the lips and in the hearts of those who receive it_.” 

Antonio opened his eyes, watching the progress of Lovino’s hand. He looked rather ridiculous doing it, which nearly made Lovino laugh. 

“What does that mean? _Domine non sum dignus_?” 

“Oh Lord, I am not worthy.” Lovino tilted Antonio’s chin up towards his, leaning down to kiss him. When he broke away Antonio gave him a dazed grin, his hands still behind his head. Lovino searched his eyes for a moment, then kissed him again, sighing softly while the sun warmed his skin. 

“Let’s go inside,” Lovino muttered. Antonio nodded. 

They hurried up the driftwood path and took the stairs two at a time, tossing their clothes and towels at the doorway of Lovino’s room. He yanked the door shut, and for a split second they only stood there, breathing a little heavy. Then Lovino leaned against the door and pulled Antonio against him.

“I think anal might be a bad idea, considering our inexperience. You can fuck me between my thighs,” Lovino said. Antonio nodded, and it was in that moment he was hit with two realizations. 

The first of these was that he was about to have sex with someone, with Lovino Vargas. But the second of these was that he absolutely did not want to. That was a very troubling thought, and he tried to push it out of his head. He was just a little nervous, that was all. But Martína kept surfacing in his thoughts, and how Lovino talked about her, and the people at the parties… 

He fought to think of anything else, but that ended up being his parents, and he absolutely would not allow sex and his parents to exist in the same corner of his head at any given moment. Anyone but them. So it was back to Martína and the girl in the lamplight and all the other attractive faces Lovino surrounded himself with. 

He liked beautiful people, that was obvious, and he had no shortage of confidence with flirting, and kissing, and now apparently sex. Antonio found it overwhelming. He wasn’t even all that clumsy now, laying down on his bed and pulling Antonio down on top of him. He had to be lying about being a virgin; how could he be this confident otherwise? And if he was lying for whatever reason, maybe to make Antonio feel better, how many people had been in Antonio’s place before? Or _Martína’s_ place? 

Lovino lifted his head from Antonio’s neck. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You’re all stiff.” 

“I…” Antonio was at a loss for words. He should just tell Lovino what he was thinking, but that made his cheeks hot with shame. There was no reason for him to be uncomfortable. Refusing sex was not something men were supposed to do. Lovino would think he was pathetic. Antonio himself would. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Lovino asked. Antonio wanted to say yes, but he didn’t. He should want this like he had that night on the beach, should want it so badly he couldn’t feel or think or sense anything else. But he didn’t. 

That had been different. That had been when he thought Lovino was falling in love with him, when he didn’t know about his apparent indifference to people’s feelings.

“No,” Antonio said. He felt sick. His stomach turned over. “I’m just nervous, that’s all.” Lovino tried to run a comforting hand down his side, but Antonio tensed up under his touch. Lovino dropped his hand quickly. 

“Nervous my ass,” he said. He pushed Antonio’s shoulders up and shimmied out from under him. Antonio let out his breath, sitting up and trying to swallow the acidic rise of shame in the back of his throat. 

“Thank you,” Antonio breathed. 

Lovino stood up. “I need to shower.” His voice was clipped, sounded angry. Antonio wilted, watching him digging through his wardrobe for clean clothes. 

“Are you mad at me?” Antonio asked, his tone much weaker than he had thought it would be. 

“Are _you_ an idiot? Of course I am,” Lovino snapped. He saw Antonio wince. “I’m not mad you don’t want to have sex. I’m mad you didn’t tell me to stop when I asked. Don’t make people guess, Antonio.” He yanked the door shut hard, and the sound of it closing made Antonio wince. 

Antonio stared at the floor. He drew his legs up to his chest, realizing he was shaking. Holding his legs, he bit down on his lower lip, tugged on by an urge to cry. This made him feel even more embarrassed and pathetic. Needing to get out of this sinking feeling of shame, he dressed and hurried down the steps, out of the house, far from Lovino.


	11. Chapter 11

The general store was on the bay, lead up to by a few creaky steps, which Antonio climbed with acidic self-loathing in the back of his throat. It hurt.

Inside he was greeted by the typical low rumble of voices and the scents of smoke, coffee, oak and whatever was baking in the kitchen. He searched the counter for Emma; she was always here on Wednesday afternoons, chatting with the proprietor’s daughter. She was there, trying to take a sip from her Coke while she laughed at something. Antonio slipped onto the stool beside her, which wobbled because a nail keeping it to the floor had come loose. 

“Oh, Tonino.” She smiled at him, and he forced a smile back, leaning on his forearms. “You look particularly disgruntled. Are you alright?” Her eyes were a tangible thing, sweeping his rumpled hair, still stringy from lake water and only half-dry. Nervously he reached up to flatten it. 

“Um…” For a moment he didn’t respond. He couldn’t tell her what happened. Nothing had been drilled harder in his head as a child than the fact you did not talk to girls about sex. Then again, it had also taught him he was incurably diseased and doomed to burn in Hell. But surely she would be more understanding than Gilbert, and he wanted to tell someone, if only to stop thinking about it. 

“I… I don’t know if it’s…” he searched for the right word. “Appropriate, for me to tell you.” Emma drew her brows together. 

“Don’t keep secrets from me, I’ll figure them out eventually.” She grinned and tucked her hair behind her ears, leaning closer to him. “Come on, you can tell me.” She knocked her elbow with his, but he still didn’t really smile. 

“It’s really embarrassing, so please don’t laugh at me,” Antonio said, staring at the floor. 

“Me? I would never laugh at you,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. Antonio sighed and hopped off the stool, Emma following. He hurried down the steps and then sprinted across the street with Emma behind him to sit on the slope beside the lake. 

“So, what’s wrong?” she asked. Antonio hesitated, watching her tug at the ends of some sparse horsetail growing on the slope. 

“I… I probably…” he sighed. “I should warn you, it’s about, um, sex.” He dropped his voice on the word, and his eyes darted sideways. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Emma said, intrigued. That was not even on the list of responses Antonio had been expecting. “I don’t care, Tonino, you can tell me,” she insisted, seeing the hesitant flicker on his face. 

“Are you sure? I mean, you’re a girl…” Emma sighed.

“Yes, I am a girl.” Antonio stared at the ground, knowing if he looked at her he would be too scandalized to go on. Instead he devoted his attention to some crushed grass and a few little Queen Anne’s Lace flowers easing their way through it. 

“I’m going out with someone,” he started. “And this afternoon we were alone at her house so we, um…” Antonio inclined his head. “I got really uncomfortable all the sudden, well, I guess not all the sudden. The minute she suggested it my stomach felt kind of sick but I figured I was only nervous. But I think I was more than nervous because I couldn’t, um, I couldn’t… you know, do what I normally do.” 

“Are you talking about getting hard or—” Emma started, but Antonio broke down into embarassed stutters. “What? You weren’t going to say it. I’ve got to fill in the gaps.” Antonio sighed and nodded. 

“Which, that’s never happened to me before. I just really, really didn’t want to have sex with her. My whole body just kind of recoiled and I started panicking. But that’s so unnatural, and now I’m all screwed up over it. What if something’s really wrong with me? More than… But really. I’m scared. That shouldn’t have happened.” 

“Why do you think so?” 

“I don’t know, I guess I was worried she just wants to sleep with me which is so stupid, I mean, not wanting to sleep with someone because of… emotion, or whatever, sounds…” 

“If you say effeminate, or some variation, I’m going to kick you,” Emma said. “But no, I meant, why are you ‘screwed up’ over it?” 

“Because I am a man, Emma. I shouldn’t say no to sex.” 

“Yeah? Who told you that?” Antonio didn’t reply. Instead he looked at his hands, reddening to a point he wouldn’t believe possible. He could feel the heat and wished the wind would blow harder. “If you’re not comfortable with something casual, you’re not comfortable. There’s nothing wrong with that. Or maybe you just don’t feel ready.” 

Antonio’s expression stiffened, and Emma guessed that had been the wrong thing to say. “I _am_. It’s not a big deal, I… Why does everyone make such a big deal over it? It’s not, it’s nothing!” His voice rose and Emma put a hand on his arm. 

“It’s alright,” she said. “That’s true, it doesn’t have to be a big deal. It isn’t to Marianne; she told me she lost her virginity when she was fourteen in a bar coat closet to a man five years older than her. That is an absolute horror story to me, but she insists it was one of the best nights of her life. I would never want that. It’s up to you to decide how ‘big a deal’ sex is to you.” Antonio shrugged. 

“I do want to be with her. I’m just… I’m scared.” He winced. “That’s so stupid. Scared.” He scoffed. 

“It’s not,” Emma said softly. “Talk to her, maybe that’ll help.” Antonio nodded. 

“I don’t know. She’s so… confident and experienced. She’s like Marianne. She’s not afraid of sex at all, she probably loves it, and it makes me feel kind of… I don’t know…” he sighed. “You’re right, though. I should talk to her. Because it’s not just this, I mean, I’ve been feeling forever like she isn’t really interested in me even though I am _so_ into her.” Emma nodded. She got to her feet, smoothing her dress. Antonio followed suit and she clasped his shoulder. 

“I have complete faith in you. Godspeed, Commander Carriedo,” she said in a gruff voice, saluting him. Antonio laughed and gave her a playful salute back, following her up the slope back to the general store and feeling considerably better. 

**_____________**

Antonio gave the pole mounted on the wall a hard stare while Lovino squinted at the card next to it, his hands clasped behind his back. 

“This is really rather unremarkable,” Lovino announced. “I appreciate you remembering me talking about my love for museums, but I’m not sure I can find the _lure_ of this place.” Antonio didn’t respond. “I just made a wonderful pun for you and you ignored it.” 

“Oh? What?” Antonio asked. “Fishing lures? You want to see the fishing lures? I think they’re in the next room.” 

“This is a one-room establishment, Antonio,” Lovino said. “Our local fishing museum isn’t known for its extensive collection.” 

“I disagree, they’ve got such a variety of poles,” Antonio argued, pointing. Lovino lowered his arm.

“What’s going on with you? Is this about Wednesday?” 

“No!” Antonio insisted, though everything about that “no” from the cadence to the break firmly disagreed.

“I’m sorry I got irritated with you. I was just upset that you didn’t tell me to stop sooner,” Lovino insisted. Antonio nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring at the pole again. “Why don’t we go outside? We can go to the pier. It’s nice there, and not too far.” 

“Okay,” Antonio said, following him outside. He swung himself onto his bike. Lovino settled against his back, arms linked around Antonio’s waist in the most casual way he could manage in case anyone glanced at them. Antonio pushed the bike off the sandy, dusty dirt, the front wiggling as he adjusted to Lovino’s weight. He clutched hard into the brake as they descended the little hill, and Lovino stuck out of his legs to add to the drag. 

It was hot, and the road smelled of asphalt. Lovino took off his suit jacket and set it on his lap so he wouldn’t sweat through it. 

By the time they reached the wharf, Antonio was just about ready to fling himself into the lake, and had to wipe his face off with his shirt. He held onto his bike and walked it up the sun-baked, sandy planks after Lovino, who led the way. He shrugged his blazer on and smoothed his hair. Even those simple offhand gestures brought color to Antonio’s face. 

Lovino perched on the guardrail, putting his hands beside his hips and looking out at water. There were whitecaps further out, and the water below them splashed over the pier in places. 

“You’re making me nervous. What if you fall in?” Antonio worried. 

“Then you’ll have to dive in and save me, won’t you?” Lovino remarked, bracing himself against his knees. Antonio shook his head, leaning on the rail beside him and looking out over the lake. The water was dark grey but gilded with the setting sun. He liked the warmth of the scene, the smell of hot wood beneath his shoes, the lake water, the sound of gulls crying out as they wheeled overhead. 

“You know, I… I really like you, Lovino,” he muttered, looking over the water again. Unlike the bay, he couldn’t see across it. The expanse of water didn’t end until the horizon.

“I like you too,” Lovino said. “You’re a lot fun.” Antonio wished he hadn’t said it like that. _A lot of fun._ That’s what he had said about Martína. He gave an uncomfortable laugh and leaned harder on the rail. It hurt his arms. 

“They used to sell kettle corn at the end of the pier,” Lovino said. “I’m kind of sad the guy left.” Antonio’s heart sank further. For a moment he wondered if there was anything left of it, but there must have been, because the sharp shards pressed on his lungs when he tried to breathe.

But there was nothing to beat and so he went heavy, unable to open his mouth to speak. The pier slipped away as he curled inside himself, inside the mess of shards that spun like a labyrinth around him. When he stepped on them they stung and he dropped to his knees, because only then did the weakness feel more manageable, when he didn’t have to hold his own weight. The Earth would do it instead, cradle him until there was something warm again. 

Never had he wanted so badly to be away from Lovino. From everyone. He wanted to exist in this hollow place by himself. It felt wrong to let anyone else bear witness to it, let alone Lovino. But he didn’t want to let it show, so he picked himself up and stood on the glass. 

“That is disappointing,” Antonio said. “About the popcorn,” he added.

“I know.” Lovino sighed and looked over his shoulder at the wheeling gulls. They wandered out to the lighthouse and watched the waves for some time until the dusk set in and Antonio insisted he needed to get home. 

Gilbert was in the shower, much to his luck, and he collapsed on his makeshift bed on the floor. He stared at the ceiling and held his hands over his eyes, as though things might change if he couldn’t see the world through his cracked fingers. He didn’t let himself cry, not when Gilbert might see when he came back and start asking him questions he would be at a loss to answer. 

The water shut off and Gilbert marched in a few minutes later with a great deal of noise. Antonio wished he would be quieter. The creak of wood, the rustle of sheets and the creak of metal, it was too much. Jarring. He wanted everything to settle and be still and silent and just as cold as himself. 

“Why do you look all depressed?” Gilbert asked. Antonio peered out from under his hands, burying them beneath his head. “Come on. Let’s hear,” he said, tapping his thighs. 

Antonio’s eyes drifted back to the ceiling, and though he didn’t want to speak the words crawled up his throat and then he was speaking. “There’s this girl,” he began, and it sounded callow to his sensitive ears. How many people had started a story with that line? “I like her a lot. So much I… I don’t even know. I guess I thought I was falling in love with her.” He had to pause and force himself to swallow. Everything felt too tense and his ear pricked. 

“But I don’t think she really cares about me. Maybe she does. I don’t understand what she wants.” Antonio closed his eyes and his lids shivered. “But I still want to see her.” 

“Ah, I’m sorry, Toni,” Gilbert said. “But even if this girl doesn’t love you, I always will, and that’s a Gilbert guarantee.” Antonio sighed and turned over on his side. “Wrong thing to say, noted. You’re right. That’s shitty.” 

“Turn the light off, would you? I’m going to sleep.” Gilbert shut them off. Antonio enjoyed the dousing of darkness. He heard Gilbert rustling around in his sheets, trying to get comfortable. He wished he would stop moving and making noise, and that his stomach didn’t ache so much, and that he didn’t feel so close to tears and downright stupid. He had been so naïve.

Antonio hid his face in his pillow, breathing in the scent of stale laundry and his own hair. He thought of Lovino, and it made him want to smile, no, to grin and giggle like someone without an ounce of intelligence in them. Antonio clutched his pillow tighter and wondered if Lovino felt the same when he thought of him. 


	12. Chapter 12

Antonio sat on the dock with his feet in the water, watching the sun rise. There were loons on the far edge of the bay, and he could hear them, that drawn-out, mournful note. It made the hairs on Antonio’s arms and nape stand up. Even their trilling tremolo sounded haunting, like something echoing somewhere ruined and abandoned and otherwise silent. 

He rarely woke so early, but he was so restless about Lovino that his subconscious decided he needed to talk to him as soon as possible. But he was probably still sleeping now. 

Antonio’s chest tightened. He watched the loons a minute longer and flopped onto his back so hard he knocked the air out of his lungs. He splayed his arms out beside him, looking up at that big, blue sky. There was a hollow, hunger-pang type pain in his solar plexus, and he put a hand over it as if to soothe the ache some. Then he thought of Lovino, and it pushed up against his ribcage. It needed out, and Antonio put his other hand over the first to keep it stuck beneath his sternum, beating alongside his heart. 

And while the sun came up, and the loons wailed, he lay with his hands clasped over his chest, trying to collect his thoughts. 

Gilbert roused him from his stupor an hour later, telling him that Lovino was on the phone, asking if Antonio wanted to come by. He told Gilbert to tell Lovino he would be there in a bit, then went up into his room to get dressed. Once he was ready, he got on his bike, pausing for a moment before starting off down the road. 

He arrived at Lovino’s doorstep nervous and fidgety, only to be pointed away from the house and into the library by Romulus. The desk in the stacks was empty, so Antonio climbed up into the loft. There he was, sitting cross-legged on the hardwood, annotating one of his books with an eraser between his teeth. He looked up when he saw Antonio. 

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning.” Antonio sat down across from him. He didn’t know what to say. What was the proper way to start this conversation? Lovino ended up providing it for him. 

“I thought you’d blow me off. You seemed pissed when you left last night, yet again,” he added, closing his book and setting the pencil and eraser on top of it. 

“I was…” he glanced over his shoulder, hoping for a bit of confidence. “I just don’t know what you want, Lovino. I mean, I thought we were dating or something, but…” he sighed and started again. “I said I really liked you, and you told me I was a lot of fun.” Lovino said nothing, and Antonio couldn’t tolerate any silence, so he kept talking. “You said the same thing about Martína, and I hate the way you talk about her, like she was nothing to you, just a distraction from your life—” 

“It’s not that big a deal,” Lovino cut in. 

“Are you sure? Are you sure it wasn’t a big deal to _her_? Because this is a big deal for me and it very obviously isn’t for you. Not everyone is like you, Lovino, _I’m_ not like you, I can’t crawl into bed with every moderately attractive person I see because I’m not a _whore_.” 

That stung him. 

“I’ve never slept with anyone, so go ahead and take that off your list of moral high grounds.” His voice shook. “And even if I had, you’re an actual piece of shit for claiming to be better than me because of it. The Catholics really trained their bitch well, didn’t they?” 

Antonio winced at that, but he supposed he deserved it. “You know I didn’t really mean that…” he whispered. 

“Sounds like you did.” 

“Well, I’m upset!” Antonio yelled. “I… I’ve known you for what, a few weeks? But I really _really_ like you. I’m more sad than angry, I suppose, because, Lovino… I thought you considered me your boyfriend, but I feel like I’m just your entertainment.” He waited for Lovino to answer.

That dead air went on for several minutes, though those several minutes felt more akin to as if time had halted altogether. Awkward and tense, it needed to be occupied. 

“You should have been upfront right from the start,” Antonio said. Lovino’s head snapped up.

“So should you!” he yelled. “Don’t push the blame on me.”

“But you’re more experienced!”

“No, _I’m not_ , Antonio. You’re the only person I’ve ever been in a relationship with. And no, nothing happened with Martína. I liked her, she didn’t like me, but she thought I was fun to mess around with. That’s it. I never had sex with her, I kissed her maybe twice, but I talk it up because I don’t want to seem like a clueless virgin.

“And I’ll tell you the truth, I really like you too. I like you so much, but there’s no point in us getting attached, because you’re leaving at the end of the summer, and…” he was running out of his short burst of anger, and his voice softened almost to a whisper. “I’ll never see you again, and I can’t stand that.” 

“Why do you say that?” Antonio asked.

“Because that’s what happens. You’ll go home, back to your normal life, and we’ll grow apart, and stop talking. You’ll forget about me.” 

“You don’t know that. Don’t be so cynical.” 

“I’m not cynical. I’m realistic. It doesn’t matter what we say now, being apart will make a difference. People change.” Lovino exhaled. “Listen, Antonio, it’s true what Feli said, my parents used to be so in love. So much it was indecent sometimes. 

“But then he went off to war. The men who fought with him said he was the bravest soldier in their battalion, and I think that meant he was good at killing people. When he came home he started drinking, and then he and my mom argued all the time, day and night they screamed at each other. It got so bad Feli would crawl into bed with me. 

“They couldn’t divorce, so we moved here. And I miss my mom, but she hardly writes. I doubt she ever wanted kids, but that’s not the point. Feli used to say their love was too good to be true, and he turned out to be right, because after everything, when Papa came home, they hated each other.” 

Antonio shook his head. “You can’t base your entire perception of love on your parents. Besides, that’s how love is supposed to be, isn’t it? Too good to be true?” he whispered. Lovino’s eyes were closed. He was breathing out his nose, trying to resist tears. It made Antonio’s heart ache, and he put his arms around Lovino.

“How can you say that? How can you know anything about love? You’re eighteen,” Lovino said. “I want to believe in true love, I do, but—” 

“I don’t mean true love, just _love_ ,” Antonio said. 

“But it… it feels like so much to ask for.” 

Antonio curled over Lovino, tucking his hair behind his ear. “No, it’s not too much to ask for to be loved,” he said. 

“It feels like that to me, but… but…” he raised his head and looked up at Antonio. “But how can I say that, really say that, when you’re right here? 

“I’m sorry, Antonio, I’m sorry,” he shivered, and Antonio held him harder as his body twitched with sobs. “I wish I wasn’t such an asshole. I wish I didn’t make you upset, I, I know relationships can’t be perfect, but they shouldn’t make you feel shitty.” 

“You don’t make me feel shitty,” Antonio said. “Sometimes, you make me a little irritated, but I bet I do the same to you. That’s normal, we’re people.” 

Lovino sniffed. “Do you know what Mr. Rilke said about this?” Of course. Antonio smiled at the floor with a soft exhale out his nose. 

“No. What did he say?” 

“He said young people don’t know how to love. He said _they must learn it, with their whole being, with all strengths enveloping their lonely, disquieted heart, they must learn to love — even while their heartbeat is quickening_.” Lovino sat up and dried his eyes on his shirt. Antonio kept a hand on his back. Then Lovino turned around and brought him back into his arms. Antonio nuzzled against his chest happily, looping his arms around Lovino’s lower back. 

Lovino rested his face on Antonio’s head. “Antonio?” he murmured. Antonio nodded. “I… I don’t know how to say this, but.” He stopped and stared at the floor. “This half-assed relationship isn’t what I want. It isn’t. And I thought maybe, if,” he trailed off again. “If I acted like I didn’t care that much, then I wouldn’t get attached to you, and it wouldn’t matter if I never saw you again. But that did jack, so…” He took a deep breath. “I want to do this properly. Treat you properly. But we’ve only got two weeks, and that’s…” He fixed his defeated stare on the floor. Antonio kissed him on the cheek. Lovino felt his chest warm. 

“And they’ll be the best two weeks of our lives,” Antonio said. Lovino rolled his eyes, but he said, 

“Thank you, Antonio,” he muttered. “I’m sorry for making you deal with that.” 

“Don’t. That’s what I’m here for,” Antonio reassured him, kissing Lovino on the forehead. “Though, there is one other thing.” 

“Uh oh,” Lovino muttered. 

“No, not _uh oh_ ,” he said. “It’s… Given the fact I’m leaving soon, I’d like to, um, make up for Wednesday, before I go.” 

“I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about,” Lovino said with a little smirk, leaning against on the bookshelves. Antonio raised his eyebrows. “Oh, are you implying sex?” Antonio reddened. “If you are, just say it, it’s not that difficult.” Antonio shook his head and Lovino gave a little sigh. “I expect you’re not much of a Freudian.” 

“Jesus no.” 

Lovino snickered. “I didn’t think so. And I’m not going to make you a student of him, but I do agree with his idea what sexual desire, it’s just as normal as thirst or hunger. It’s not an inherent human trait to find it disgusting or immortal, that’s a learned behavior. And you wouldn’t deny yourself water or food.” 

“Well, I’ve gone eighteen years without it and haven’t _died_ , so I don’t think that’s comparable.” 

“Fine, but you’ve jacked off.” Antonio flinched.

“Still wouldn’t _die_ if I didn’t do that,” he said.

“Alright, we won’t linger on Freud,” Lovino said. “My point is that it’s about cultural attitude. I mean, half the art and literature that’s come out of antiquity is downright pornographic. So much so your old roommate could have sold it for good money.” Antonio scoffed. “You have absolutely no grounds to scoff. Take Catullus’s poems, for example. In _Carmen 16_ he opens the poem with the rather vulgar line _pēdīcabō ego vōs et irrumābō_.” 

“What does that mean?” Antonio asked. 

“Oh, I’m not sure if I should tell you, I might make you blush,” he said. “It’s sometimes translated a little gentler, but the original, if clumsy, Latin translation would be _I will fuck you in the ass and the face_.” 

“It would not,” Antonio said. 

“It would. _Irrumare_ quite literally means ‘the act of sticking one’s penis in another’s mouth,’ and likewise with _pedicare_ , but I digress. 

“While we’re on the topic of Catullus, homosexuality wasn’t seen the same way in Rome either. They didn’t even have a word for it, really, sex was sex to them. And Ancient Greece, my God, I would castrate myself with a blunt knife if you found something from that country without an undertone of homoeroticism.” 

“I really, really wish you had not said that,” Antonio said. 

“I do too, frankly,” Lovino said. “And I know that isn’t going to undo years of religious education telling you otherwise, but hopefully it makes you feel the slightest bit better.” Antonio nodded. 

“It does, a bit,” he said, looking back out over the water. The surface was ruffled by the wind. 

“Still, you don’t strike me as someone who’s spent all that time with yourself. Especially after that run-in with the monsignor you told me about, surely that scared you off for a long time.” Antonio inclined his head.

“I mean, I… I wouldn’t say a _long_ time. It probably didn’t help that he was, uhm, well, he was sort of good-looking.” Lovino sat up and stared at him. 

“Where are you from that there are hot monsignors? Everyone in my church was ancient and awful.” Lovino sighed. “Oh my God. Tell me you did not jerk off to him,” Lovino said, staring at Antonio. He blushed and shook his head, avoiding eye contact. 

“Maybe once, but I was fifteen—” Lovino shook his head, doing the sign of the cross and pretending to start praying. Antonio grabbed his shoulders and shook them, trying to get him to look up from his folded hands. 

“Stop! I shouldn’t have told you that! It was once, and I felt very guilty about it after… _stop_!” Lovino talked over him loudly until Antonio pulled away and started sulking. 

“So, did you confess it to him?” Lovino asked. Antonio got redder and shook his head. “No? You didn’t catch him in his office after hours to tell him about your… sinful indiscretion?” Antonio hid his face in his hands, trying to recollect himself before forming a rebuttal.

“Of course not, are you _insane_? Could you imagine telling someone you jerked off to them? Let alone a _priest_?” 

“I can’t imagine it’s all that hard. Allow me to demonstrate: I always get off thinking about you.” Antonio stared at him. “Uh oh. Did I scare you?” Antonio shook his head. “What about you? Do you think of me?” 

“Uh, no, but I don’t really think of anything, I kind of just… It’s a get in, get out situation, you know?” Lovino shook his head. “Well, I always felt really guilty about it so I tried to make it go as fast as I could so I didn’t prolong the affront to God.” 

Lovino sighed. “That’s sad,” he said. “You would be a lot less afraid of sex if you could get over that. More like me,” he added. Antonio rolled his eyes. “Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.” 

“...So, what do you suggest?” Antonio asked. Lovino raised his eyebrows. “About…” he gestured with his hand and immediately broke down with embarrassment again. Lovino laughed at him, and Antonio hid his face again. Lovino made him look up, still laughing a bit. 

“I’d show you now, but it’s about lunchtime and I was hoping to take you to that little pasty place down the road. If you come back tomorrow evening, though, I could give you something of an idea.” Antonio nodded. Lovino stood up and offer a hand. Antonio took it and attempted pulling himself up, yanking Lovino down instead. Lovino fell against his chest with a muffled grunt, shaking his head against the crook of Antonio's neck. He looked up, planting his hands on either side of his head and giving him an accusatory glare. 

“You did that on purpose. You think you’re so slick,” Lovino said. Antonio shook his head. 

“No, it was because of your… what was the word you used? _Wiry_ arms.” 

“I’m going to punch you,” Lovino said, burying his face in Antonio’s shoulder. Antonio hung his arms around Lovino and laughed a bit as Lovino kissed him. He held on to Lovino tighter, hard enough Lovino’s elbows buckles and he lay against Antonio’s arm. 

“Don’t look at me like that, I’ve already said plenty of cliché things today. Come on, I want to take my boyfriend out to lunch.” Antonio smiled. 

“So you count yourself as my boyfriend now?” Antonio asked.

“Maybe. Now get up. Let’s go. I’m hungry.” 


	13. Chapter 13

Seven in the evening was far too early to get this type of drunk, Antonio thought as he stared at his watch over Marianne’s shoulder. She was curled up against his side, her knees tucked up to her chest and shoes kicked off, clutching a beer bottle. Several minutes ago she had said something hilarious to her and only her and was still laughing about it, spilling beer on Antonio’s shirt. He frowned at the stain on his shirt, wondering why he had expected any different outcome. 

Marianne wanted him to join her at Amelia’s end-of-the-summer party, and he had agreed to drop by. However, “dropping by” a party was not an option with Marianne. He was very much stuck and running out of time to get to the Vargas’s promptly. It was a fifteen minute walk, so he needed to leave now, but didn’t feel it morally right to leave Marianne alone and intoxicated in a crowd of strangers. 

“Why aren’t you laughing?” Marianne asked. “You’re too sober.” She put her hands on his chest and turned to Amelia, who was perched on her porch railing, one arm looped around a pole to keep herself upright. 

“Amélie!” Marianne called. She glanced at them. “Pass me a Lucky and bring Toni a beer.” Amelia stumbled through a _fuck off_ and went on smoking, trying to blow rings without a hint of success. Marianne huffed and pouted against Antonio’s arm, craning her neck to look up at him. 

“Antonio…” He was focused on sweeping the crowd, hoping for a familiar face. “Antonio!” she persisted, bracing her hands on his thighs and pushing herself up, making the porch swing where they sat waver. “I’m so bored. You should kiss me.” 

“Uh, not right now. I’ve got a girlfriend and you’re drunk.” Marianne sat up straight. 

“You have a girlfriend?” she asked. “God damnit. What’s her name?” Antonio didn’t say anything. “Come on! Out with it. I want to know who got the chance to sleep with you so I can ask if I missed out or not. You’re so hot, I bet you’re real selfish during sex, which wouldn’t work with me.” 

“ _Marianne_ ,” he groaned. “We haven’t slept together. Not that that’s important,” he added, though to Marianne it very much was. At the present moment it was to him too, because if he didn’t find an out he would miss out on that. 

“Why? Don’t tell me you’re saving yourself? Is _she_ saving herself? Do you have erectile dysfunction?”

“No,” Antonio insisted. “Please stop, you’re making me bonkers uncomfortable.”

“Alright, alright,” she said, the started laughing over his use of the word ‘bonkers.’ It was then Antonio finally caught sight of Emma on the lawn and perked up.

“Get up, Marianne,” he said. “I have to go, but you can stay with Emma.” 

“I don’t have shoes. Will you carry me?” 

“They’re right there,” he said, nudging them towards her. 

“They hurt,” she whined. Antonio was tempted to make her just go barefoot, but he didn’t want to be rude. He picked her up and grabbed her shoes, walking her down the steps to where Emma sat beside the girl from the general store. 

“Hey.” Antonio touched her on the shoulder. “I’ve got a date, would you mind keeping an eye on her? Or rather, you know, the men here?”

“Sure,” Emma said. Antonio let out a relieved breath. 

“Thank you. You’re the best, Em,” he said. “And I hope you still have a good time despite…” he gestured to Marianne. 

“I will, probably. Don’t worry.” She patted him on the arm and waved as he turned and darted down the driveway. 

Antonio ran the whole way to the Vargas’s, which didn’t do much to shorten the trip. He arrived there ten minutes late, sweaty and panting, so he caught he breath and wiped the sweat off his face before he went to find Lovino. 

He was laying in the grass behind the carriage house with his arms stretched out and his eyes closed. There was a book beside his head, and empty bottle of Pellegrino and his silver cigarette case pinning the cover down against the wind off the lake. 

It was a lovely evening, with the sky an at-ease sort of blue, the spaces close to the horizon filled in with alabaster. Instead of August, it seemed like one of those warm days at the start of June when the windows were all open as everyone had forgotten warm breeze and how lovely a season summer really was. 

“Hi,” Antonio breathed. “Sorry I kept you waiting.” He collapsed on the grass beside Lovino, still panting. 

“It’s alright,” Lovino muttered. He rolled onto his stomach and crawled over to Antonio, setting his head on his thigh. “You sound like you’re dying,” he noted, picking at a loose inseam thread on Antonio’s pants. 

“I might be,” Antonio said. “It’s so hot.” Lovino nodded.

“I know. I’ve been outside all day.” Antonio smooth the fabric over his shoulder and smiled at him.

“I can tell. Your face is all red, like a tomato.”

“What is it with you and tomatoes?” Lovino asked. 

“I’m really not sure.” 

“You smell like beer. What happened?” he asked, touching the drying stain on Antonio’s shirt. 

“Your lovely friend Marianne.” Antonio grinned at Lovino’s disgusted expression. 

“Don’t even joke about that,” he warned. Antonio laughed, leaning against the wall of the library, resting his hand on Lovino’s shoulder. There was a cluster of sailboats drifting across the bay, their sails brushed with the diluted setting sun. The water rustled against the low seawall and birds chirped rom the maples and cedars. 

“Will you play with my hair?” Lovino asked. Antonio nodded, and Lovino faced the water. He stretched his arm out over Antonio’s knee, closing his eyes to swallow the last bits of summer left. And Antonio, of course, he had to savour Antonio, running his fingers through his hair. He was gazing at the sailboats and faraway figures on the beaches opposite the bay. Someone must have been having a fire at one of the neighboring cottages, as the air was salty with hot woodsmoke. 

“Your hair is so soft. And it smells good,” Antonio said. He leaned down to give it a hearty sniff. It must have tickled, because Lovino giggled. Antonio had never heard Lovino giggle even once, so he did it again. 

“Quit,” Lovino groaned, giving him an uninspired shove on the knee. Antonio kissed him on the eyebrow and then the edge of his temple, pulling away but lingering there, listening to his own breathing and the rustle of the water. He smoothed Lovino’s hair away from his face, tucking in behind his ear, though a few loose strands escaped on the faint breeze and brushed his cheeks. 

Lovino snuggled closer to Antonio’s leg, closing his eyes. 

“You’re like a cat,” Antonio murmured close to his ear. 

“I am not,” he grouched. Antonio chuckled and kissed his cheek. Lovino’s eyes were closed but his lips were parted, and he was breathing gradually. Antonio kissed him again, then sat back and looked up at the mellow sky. Lovino rustled and reached for his wrist, putting it back on his head, so Antonio continued to mess with his hair while he studied the clouds. 

“This is so nice,” Antonio muttered.

“But it’s not what you came for, I know,” Lovino muttered. 

“That’s not true. I came here to be with you.”

“And you’re horny, admit it. That’s the first step,” Lovino said. 

“Fine, of course I am.” Lovino smiled and patted his cheek. 

“That’s the spirit.” Antonio began to stand up but Lovino held up a hand. “No, no.” Lovino rolled on his back. “At least kiss me first.” Antonio cradled Lovino’s jaw and leaned down to kiss him. Lovino smiled and reached up to hang his arms around Antonio’s neck. It was like he was kissing Lovino for the first time all over again, but without that sinking worry.

“Feli and my dad are at the neighbor's, so don’t worry about being disturbed,” Lovino said, pulling himself up. Despite this promise, when they got up to his room he stilled locked the door. “Just in case,” he said. Then he sat on his clumsily made bed, drawing a low breath. Antonio climbed over to sit beside him, getting swept up in the need to pull back that curtain had stirred at his fingertips. 

“I’m making good on my promise from yesterday, that’s all,” Lovino said. Antonio nodded, breathing little harsher than he usually did. Lovino turned to him to undo his shirt buttons, giving Antonio his Mona Lisa smile. 

“Do you… do you usually get naked?” Antonio asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep any awkwardness from his tone. Lovino shrugged. 

“Depends.” He paused a moment to take a few breaths, not wanting to get tense, a difficult feat with Antonio staring at him. As much as he liked to pretend he was unaffected by Antonio, he could not be more done up in knots over him. 

The breathing didn’t do much, so he ran his fingers up and down his chest, trying to soothe himself with the steady movement. But still, when he grazed his sternum his heart beat hard beneath his fingertips, and the feeling of that rapid pulse made Lovino feel all the more overwhelmed. 

Of course he loved it; he wanted to be looked at, but more than simply that: to be studied, admired, made to feel like a living masterpiece. To be Galatea, and Antonio Pygmalion, shocked and awed his lovely creation was given a beating heart. 

Lovino stroked his collarbones lightly, dragging his nails down his chest to his waist. Antonio rustled. “I can see your heart beating,” he muttered. Lovino rolled his chin against his shoulder and sighed a bit, taken aback when Antonio reached over to lay a hand over his heart. His touch was warmer than Lovino imagined it would be, steady and still. Antonio kissed him on the shoulder, hand stuttering down Lovino’s stomach to brush his wrist. 

Lovino met Antonio’s eyes, and for a moment he thought his careful façade might break. All of Antonio’s attention, his admiration, his. His alone. It made him wonder if the waves were still rolling on the shore, the boats still dancing out to sea, if anything else at all existed anymore under the endless sky. 

“What’s wrong?” Antonio muttered.

“What are you talking about?” 

“N-nothing, you just, you looked sort of sad all the sudden.” Lovino scoffed. He didn’t have any reason to seem sad. He undid his trousers and pushed them halfway down his thighs, rolling the heels of his hands against his hipbones. He brought his hand down to his cock, pressing it flat to his stomach and cupping his other hand in front of his mouth, dropping spit into it. He was glad for an excuse to look away from Antonio for once as he trailed it down his dick, delaying a bit to gather himself. He was unwilling to let Antonio under his skin just yet. 

“Ha, you are so easy to get hard,” Lovino said, watching Antonio undo his own pants. 

“Hey, that’s not fair. You look like _that_ , Lovino.” 

“What’s that?” Lovino asked. He shifted a little closer. “Tell me more.” Antonio stared at him for a split second. They were close enough he could feel Lovino’s haggard breathing and see where the red in his cheeks frayed. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” he muttered. “I… I can’t explain it, you’re so attractive it hurts. Really. I get this pain in my chest when I look at you because you’re so… you’re so beautiful. I wish you could see yourself like I see you, then maybe you would understand the affect you have. Just the way you look at me, it makes my skin crawl…” Antonio bit the tip of his tongue. Lovino caught his wrist. 

“Go slower,” Lovino whispered. “Like this,” he added, moving Antonio’s hand in a measured meter. “And try here, it feels so good.” Antonio nodded, ducking his head and kissing him. Lovino let go of Antonio’s arm to cup the back of his head, pulling him in and not letting him out. Antonio pulled back and his breath shuddered. He whined the slightest bit, but pressed his lips together so it softened into a dull hum. 

“Do that again. Louder. In my ear,” Lovino whispered. Antonio laid his cheek on Lovino’s pillows, his faltering breath rasping on Lovino’s neck. He could tell Lovino loved it and so he didn’t stop even when he came because Lovino still hadn’t. Antonio had sunken back against his headboard when he felt a warm pull at his stomach as Lovino licked the cum off his stomach. 

“Lovino…” Antonio started, but didn’t go on. Lovino laid his cheek against Antonio’s thigh, sinking his teeth down into his lower lip and furrowing his brow. He finished himself off against Antonio’s leg and buried his face against his hips. He stayed there for a several seconds and caught his breath before he shimmied upwards to lay opposite Antonio. 

“Nice to take your time, isn’t it?” he murmured, brushing a bit of hair from Antonio’s ear. 

“Yes,” Antonio murmured. “But it makes me tired.” 

“Me too. Let’s take a nap. I’ll make us a light dinner when you wake up. And don’t worry about the sheets, I’ll deal with it.” Antonio nodded, laying down on the side near the window. Lovino wriggled over to him, snuggling against his chest. 

Antonio kissed him on the head. In the rawness of that moment he almost said, if only to try the words out, _I love you_. He didn’t, just curled closer around him and kissed him on the cheek, taking in every bit of the moment and already aching for when it would be gone. But it wasn’t gone yet.


	14. Chapter 14

Half of the following week was too hot for anything but swimming, all choked up with humidity and heat. It made Antonio miss the endless days of rain during July, especially because most of the time he couldn’t even manage to kiss Lovino without having to shove him off because it was too hot to be close to anyone. 

But he was glad to spend time with Lovino by the beach. The woods were shady and cool so Lovino suggested they go to a clearing for a picnic. Antonio loved the idea and was endlessly happy chopping up strawberries and nectarines, humming under his breath while Lovino made sandwiches.

The heat provided an excuse to frequent the ice cream shop by the pier, which was always crowded but it was well worth the sweaty wait. Lovino ordered the same amaretto flavor every time, but Antonio was making it his goal to try every flavor available before he left for Dallas. 

The pier itself played host to a and end-of-the-summer street fair that Antonio was desperate to attend, despite Lovino complaining about having to be in a crowd. 

“We can do whatever you want tomorrow,” Antonio said. “We can just sit and read books if you want.”

“See now I’m hurt because you said that as a joke but that sounds like a lot of fun to me,” Lovino sniffed. 

“Then we’ll do it,” Antonio said, taking his hands. And as much as Lovino tried to hate that hot summer night, it wasn’t so bad. Especially with Antonio with him, something Antonio felt the same about the following uninspired Saturday, sitting in the library. A storm had finally come and the heat broken just past midnight the night before, when the left the fair for Lovino’s house. 

Lovino made them wake up early to watch the sunrise, so Antonio was exhausted the entire day. In an attempt to remedy this, Lovino had been feeding him espresso almost all day. He was on his fourth cup now, watching Lovino with his chin on his fists, reading a book propped against a shelf. 

Antonio inched over to kiss him beneath the ear. Taken by surprise, Lovino tucked his chin to his shoulder but remained focused on his book. Antonio frowned and slid his hand into Lovino’s hair, making Lovino look ar him. Lovino gave him a quick kiss to give him the attention he so obviously wanted, but that wasn’t quite enough for Antonio. 

“What do you want, hmm?” Lovino asked, smirking at him. 

“I want to fuck you,” Antonio said. The smirk slid off Lovino’s face; he had not been expecting this boldness from him. He dropped the book and Antonio dug his fingers into Lovino’s hair, clenching them into a fist and holding his head there, his nails against Lovino’s scalp. When Lovino kissed him, he opened his mouth, wanting Antonio to kiss him like he had that night on the beach, in that way that made his whole chest hurt. 

Antonio broke away from Lovino’s mouth and turned his attention to his neck, then the niche behind his collarbone. One of his hands fidgeted with Lovino’s shirt at the curve of his waist, while the other was on his sternum, slipping under his collar. Lovino rather enjoyed being roughed around by a very restless, very caffeinated Antonio, and he reached up to undo the buttons, wanting to make it easier for him. 

Antonio grabbed his shoulders and rolled onto his back, dragging Lovino along with him. It threw him off balance and it took him a few seconds to right himself, settling his weight on Antonio’s lap. 

“Are you sure? _Really_ sure?” Antonio nodded, and soon he was fumbling with the buttons on his own shirt. “You can tell me to stop. I won’t be angry.” Lovino insisted. 

“Yes, I know, Lovino,” Antonio said with half-breathless irritation as he struggled to get his shirt off. 

“Even later. At any point.”

“ _I know_ ,” Antonio repeated. “Now get my trousers off and put your hands on me and use your mouth for something other than talking.” Lovino stared at him. It seemed Antonio had scared himself, though, because he instantly lost all his confidence. He seemed unsure all over again, even in taking his clothes off. 

Lovino passed the very edges of his fingers along Antonio’s throat, bringing goosebumps to the surface of his skin. He followed the lines of his collarbones to his shoulders, down to his arms, running his thumbs back and forth across the inside of Antonio’s elbows because it made him twitch, all the while just taking him in. 

It was a privilege he had never been privy to, being able to trace every inch of Antonio’s body with his eyes. And how he had wanted to since he had first seen him, to follow those intricate details modeled in the Garden of Eden. And how they were heightened here, with the rusted-gilt lamplight resting on all that careful architecture with a lazy, languid nature. 

“My God,” Lovino whispered.

“What?” 

“You are _so gorgeous_ , I can’t take it,” he said. 

“Let’s hope you can.” Antonio grinned. “See? Innuendo.” Lovino sighed and leaned close to Antonio’s face, holding his jaw and tilting his face up. 

“You don’t have to point out the fact you used a double entendre,” Lovino said, kissing the tip of his nose and letting go. “Where do you want me to touch you?” 

“I… don’t know,” Antonio muttered. 

“Well, everyone’s sensitive here,” Lovino murmured, brushing the spot behind his ear lightly. He lingered there only a bit, then drew his fingers down Antonio’s chest to his abdomen.

“And here.” His fingers moved feather-light against Antonio’s stomach, just below his navel. Antonio’s abdomen contracted at Lovino’s touch, and he kept his attention there until Antonio got too accustomed to the feeling and he moved on to other places that would get him restless again. 

“And here, too,” he whispered, running the back of his hand against the inside of his thighs and watching Antonio’s face. Again, once the newness of the sensation faded, Lovino stopped and turned his attention elsewhere. And when he got a reaction no matter where his hands were, he planted his hands on Antonio’s calves and lowered himself, his hair brushing Antonio’s inner thighs with a pleasant delicacy.

“I won’t last long,” Antonio cautioned, staring up at the rafters above them.

“That’s okay. You’ve got plenty of time to recuperate and try again,” Lovino said. “And _please_ don’t waste the fact we have this entire place to ourselves.” Antonio nodded. 

Then Lovino took him in his mouth, and Antonio gave a harsh exhale and drew one of his legs up. Lovino chuckled and pushed it down, holding it there while he rocked his head in a gauzy, leisurely motion. Antonio’s breath stuttered and Lovino saw him clenching and unclenching his hand against the hardwood, arm tensed.

“Antonio,” he murmured, looking up. 

“What?” his voice was fully, utterly breathless, and a warm thrum of pride went down Lovino’s ribs. 

“Grab my hair if you need something to hold on to.” Antonio nodded again, his eyes still shut. He reached his hands down his stomach and dug them into Lovino’s hair. He did whatever he could to make Antonio pull harder and his grip tighten. 

He pressed a hand on Antonio’s stomach to stop him from lifting his hips and choking him too much, feeling the muscles in Antonio’s abdomen contract harder and harder under his palm. And as much as Lovino had tried to emotionally and physically prepare himself, he was not ready to handle Antonio coming in his mouth. He did his very best not to gag, but lost the battle with unprecedented quickness and had to slap a hand across his mouth. He forced himself to swallow, which left an awful chlorinated sting on his tongue that made him bristle. 

He sat up and leaned back against a bookshelf with his knees to his chest, looking at Antonio. He had his hands pressed to his face and it was several moments before he pushed himself up on his elbows. 

“Did I do alright?” Lovino asked. Antonio nodded, so he laughed. “Your face is so red.” 

“That doesn’t shock me,” Antonio said. “What… what do you want me to do?” he asked. 

Lovino beckoned Antonio towards him. He let his legs fall open and smoothed Antonio’s hair, wrecked from the floor. “Same as I did to you,” he said. Antonio nodded. “Are you nervous?” 

“Well, yes,” Antonio admitted, glancing at the floor. “I… I don’t know, I, I just want to do a good job,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got nothing to compare it to, so if it’s terrible, it’ll be the best I ever had.” 

“I’m not sure that makes me feel better,” Antonio said.

“It should,” Lovino insisted, stroking his head again. 

It did comfort him a little, but not much, so he delayed a while by kissing Lovino around the hips. It quickly made him feel guilty, making him sit against an uncomfortable bookshelf and only getting some half-hearted smooches to the waist. So he stole himself, taking a deep breath and mustering up some confidence. 

He was terrified of going too far too fast so he went as slow as he could, waiting for some kind of encouragement from Lovino before he got anymore daring. And he got it, quite quickly at that.

“Oh, fuck, Antonio,” Lovino hissed, grabbing his shoulders and wrapping a leg around his back, pressing his calf against his spine. “My God, why were you so worried? Tell me why you were so, so worried…” Lovino planted his hands on either side of his hips, listing harder against the bookshelves even though it hurt and would leave a mark on his back. 

“Do _that_ again, what you just did, _Christ_ …” he insisted, pushing up harder from the floor. Antonio realized then why Lovino had been so insistent about him not being quiet. 

He got more adventurous the more Lovino spoke, rewarded with yet more appraisal and unapologetic, obscene responses. Lovino pushed his hands flat to the hardwood, arching his hips up and tipping his head back. His arms shook as he held himself there, looking down at Antonio with unfocused eyes. Then he relaxed and slumped against the shelves, his elbows digging into the old book spines behind him. 

Antonio, meanwhile, was struggling to deal with spitting cum and saliva on the floor of Romulus’s library. He grabbed the blanket and hurriedly went to wipe it off, buried in a flurry of apologies. 

“No apology necessary,” Lovino murmured. “I think we can be honest with each other and say it’s disgusting.”

“Disgusting is a bit harsh. Gross, definitely.” 

“It’s _disgusting_ ,” Lovino said. “But so long as it made you feel good, it’s alright.” He reached for his trousers and into his pocket for his cigarettes. He lit one and a second for Antonio. 

“Don’t let Papa know. We’re not supposed to smoke in the library.” 

“He’ll smell it,” Antonio worried. 

“We’ll open the windows,” he said, leaning over to push the window up. He smiled over his shoulder at Antonio, who joined him at the window. “What do you feel like doing tomorrow? Do you think you’ll have recovered to try something a little more adventurous?” 

“Ah, I would, but I’ve got to pack and help the Beildschmidt’s get their boat and cottage set up for the winter.” Lovino nodded. “I’m sorry,” Antonio added. “It’ll take a few days, but I’ll visit you before I leave. I promise.” Lovino nodded again, too stiff. 

“Don’t apologize,” Lovino said. “It’s not your fault. But… thank you for being with me. It means a lot. _You_ mean a lot to me.” Lovino laid his head on Antonio’s shoulder, and Antonio rested his on Lovino’s. “I think it would be best if we didn’t stay in a relationship when you leave. It’s just… it’s so messy, and I know it’s possible, but I think it would be better for me.”

Antonio nodded, leaning on the windowsill. “Alright. I mean, I sort of _have_ to agree, because if one of us is disinterested in the relationship… you see the problem?”

“I don’t mean to be cruel. Really.” 

“I know, Lovi,” he said, running a hand over Lovino’s hair and tucking a bit behind his ear. “I’m glad I got to spend the time with you that I did. Also, I wasn’t going to mention it, but my dad called last week and told me we’re going back to Alicante next summer, so if we did stay together, there would be that looming over our heads.” Antonio nuzzled his nose against Lovino’s, who sighed but let him do it. "I'll miss you a lot, but I certainly don't regret it. I loved every second with you." Antonio touched his forehead to Lovino's, smiling. 

“You’re just saying all this because I just blew you, right?” Lovino muttered. 

“Oh, of course. The singular reason,” Antonio said. Lovino sat up.

“ _Shit_. That’s the sort of thing _I_ would say. I’ve ruined you.” Lovino shook his head. “How will I ever atone for my sins?” 

“You could talk to the monsignor, if you like,” Antonio said.

“Oh! The Monsignor! Now you’re going back to Spain you can rekindle your lost love or, you know, sexual—”

“ _Stop_ ,” Antonio warned. 

“You don’t love the idea of a tryst in the confessional stall?” Lovino asked. 

“Not even slightly,” Antonio said. 

“What if it was me?” 

“No. I do not want to have sex in a church. That’s… Not my idea of a good time.” 

“Oh, but the _acoustics_ —”

“I can’t stand anything you’re saying right now,” Antonio said. 

“Okay, okay,” Lovino said. “I’ll stop.” He kissed Antonio on the forehead and took his hand, leaning on his shoulder and looking back out over the lake. Antonio nuzzled closer to him, putting an arm around his shoulder. Lovino messed with his hand idly, thinking about what Antonio had said. No, he didn't regret it either. Short as it had been, he was glad to have spent these weeks with Antonio, and he always would be. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this will strike a chord with anyone else, but ["Where the Skies are Blue"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXv5ai5nZ8U) by The Lumineers is my recommended listening for this chapter

The last days of summer always had a finality to it that no other season did. 

They were nothing but heavy with a necessity to be filled, to be overflowing with motion, but the long weeks before had exhausted Lovino too much to act on it. The hot weather was overwhelming both in and out of doors, but at least inside there was no risk of sunburn, so Lovino stayed in. He sat beside the window in his underwear, thinking. About Antonio, and Emma, even Ludwig. The midnight dancing and jazz, and evenings out on the water when the moon had come up, sipping moonshine so bitter it made him salivate. 

He remembered the way Antonio had described missing Alicante: nausea and hunger pangs and nervousness all at once. Yes, it was like that, a tense bundle of hollowness that was stretched too thin and ached in the walls of his heart and stomach. It left him tender down to the bone and his entire body seem to cave under that relentless weight of resisting the end. 

He rested his chin on his hand. No matter what he told Antonio when they parted, and what Antonio told him, things would change when they resumed the regular rhythm of their lives. He trusted Antonio would make good on his promises to write, but he couldn’t be sure that their feelings would stay the same. He doubted it. 

But who knew? Lovino had always found stories about people flinging themselves into each other’s arms after decades of being apart outlandish and unrealistic, but maybe they weren’t. Some part of him, the one helpless to the pull of romance and now whatever he felt for Antonio, insisted it wasn’t completely improbable. He didn’t know if that feeling was love, but it had to be close, close enough to touch. 

Antonio, who was biking up the driveway, waving up at him. He looked as he had the first day he came by with his crate of books and his sunburned face. He’d undone the top buttons of his loose shirt and rolled his trousers up at his ankles to prevent them getting caught in his bike chain. 

Lovino threw on his discarded clothes and ran downstairs to open the door for him. He grabbed two bottles of Pellegrino from the ice box, and Antonio was so thirsty he drank half of his on the quick walk to the library. They had gone up there for the privacy to mess around as they liked, but the lawless heat firmly said no to these plans. It also said no to kissing, or any contact more than the brush of their fingertips as they lay spread-eagled on the floor. 

Antonio dragged his hands down his face and let his arms flop back onto the floor. “I’m hot.” 

“You are,” Lovino said without opening his eyes. 

Antonio turned to grin at him. “Heh, I wasn’t saying that to be flirty—”

“Nor was I. You’re _stifling_ , _please_ move further away,” Lovino moaned, pressing the hell of his hand to his forehead. 

“I’m at least half a meter from you.” 

“Make it a whole.” 

Antonio sighed. “I have an idea. Why don’t we go swimming?” 

Lovino hummed softly. “That sounds nice, but it also requires movement, so I think not.” Antonio rolled onto his stomach and went on trying to convince him, and eventually Lovino agreed. He very near had to peel himself off the hardwood to follow Antonio down to the beach. They both stripped and sprinted across the hot sand, fearing permanent burn damage, and not stopping until they were up to their waists in the lake. 

The waves were more of a swell, no wind to break them. They swam until the heat and exhaustion got the best of them, forcing them back up the beach and up into Lovino’s room. He had shut all his windows and drawn the curtains shut after Antonio had arrived, trying to kill the heat. It had worked some, helped by the fact the sun was setting. However while the heat had calmed, the humidity remained dense and heavy, oppressive to any wind that might have tried to get in.

Lovino opened the windows and Antonio flopped down on the bed. Lovino collapsed on top of him.

“Get your head off my ass,” Antonio muttered into the pillows, attempting a clumsy shove at his head. 

“No,” Lovino said. With some effort he forced his arms underneath Antonio’s stomach to hug him around the waist, then readjusted himself and stilled. 

Neither of them meant to fall asleep, but the heat and swimming had tired them both out to the point it was inevitable.

Lovino woke to Feliciano knocking on the door. “What do you want?” he groaned. 

“Papa and I are going to say goodbye to the neighbors. We’ll be back around eight, and we’ll eat then, alright?” Lovino gave a muffled noise of affirmation and climbed up Antonio’s beck. 

“Get up,” Lovino said, nudging his sides with his knees. Antonio didn’t move. “Get,” Lovino pushed on his lower back, “up!” He shook Antonio’s shoulders, and finally he opened his eyes, attempting to roll over and unseating Lovino. “Ugh, I feel like shit. And you look like it. I’m going to shower, the cold water will wake me up. Care to join?”  
Antonio grinned sleepily. “Will there be actual showering involved?” 

“There will only be showering involved. We are not having sex in the family shower.” 

“You always shut down my fun ideas,” Antonio groaned, turning onto his side. 

“Your ‘fun ideas’ are shit,” Lovino said. “Now get up.” He hopped off his bed and pulled at Antonio’s hand, bringing him down the hall into the bathroom. 

“I think that’s because your definition of fun is… _creative_. Which is fine. I bet your beloved authors write about creativity all the time.” Lovino shook his head and went to undressing. Antonio watched him, leaning against the sink. “Enjoy it,” Lovino muttered with a rigid sarcasm. 

“I certainly did,” Antonio said. To his surprise, Lovino didn’t quip back, just got into the shower. Antonio kicked his clothes off and got in with him. 

“It’s small, I know,” Lovino muttered. He was staring at the floor. 

“Somehow it doesn’t bother me,” Antonio said, his hands on Lovino’s hips. He winced at the water hit him. “That is _freezing_ ,” he said, skittering away to the back wall, which didn’t do all that much to help.

“It’s a cold shower. Supposed to wake us up, dumbass,” Lovino said. Antonio rinsed off as quickly as he could, unable to feel Lovino was fighting to hide how upset he was. And Antonio hadn’t been hit with the realization until now that he was leaving tomorrow, that it was unlikely he would ever see Lovino again. His shoulders sank and he felt almost like he had back on the pier when Lovino had casually called him a lot of fun. 

Antonio climbed out of the shower and dried off, holding the towel to his chest as he gave an unfocused stare to the tile. Lovino turned the water off. When he saw Antonio with the towel he kicked himself for not having brought an extra, thinking he would resort to a washcloth when Antonio offered it to him.

“Here. I’m dry,” he said. 

“Not your hair. Come here.” Lovino gave his hair a harsh ruffle. Antonio spluttered but let it happen, and when Lovino let up his attack he looked up at Lovino with a soft adoration in his eyes that made Lovino shove the towel in his face. 

“I just want to say it once, before I go.” Antonio’s voice was so faint. Almost a whisper. “I love you.” 

“Dont. Goddamnit, don’t, I’m going to fucking cry and my body can’t afford any more water loss after all the sweating I’ve done today.” Lovino listed on the sink, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Ah, Goddamnit…” his voice broke, and a tear escaped his eye. “Shit.” He stared up at the light fixture to prevent any more from attempting this criminal endeavor. 

Antonio stepped forward to take him in his arms, and Lovino slumped against his chest. Their skin was cold from the water but Lovino felt his body heat beneath it and pressed himself closer, hiding his face against his shoulder. 

“I don’t want you to leave,” he breathed. Antonio hugged him harder, not trusting himself to speak without breaking down into a mess of sobbing that he doubted Lovino would appreciate. Lovino twitched underneath him. He was crying, and Antonio held him tighter still. Between the softest of sniffs, a little whine escaped Lovino. At this, he pushed Antonio back and pressed the towel to his face to muffled his tears. 

Antonio reached up and undid his necklace. 

“Lovi…” he touched Lovino’s shoulder. “Will you let me give you this?” Lovino reappeared from the towel, bunching it up in his arms and cradling it to his heart. “To remind you of me, but only if you want—”

“Yes, I do.” Lovino set the towel down and pivoted to let Antonio do the clasp. Lovino felt the faint hairs on his nape rise at the sensation of Antonio’s fingertips. “I’ll get something for you too,” Lovino said. He began an aggressive campaign to get dressed and ran back to his room, halfway done rooting through his drawers when Antonio met him. 

“You already gave me something,” Antonio said. “A Petoskey stone, remember?” 

“A rock. How thoughtful,” Lovino said, still hunting. He paused, looking defeated, then perked up and went to his bookshelf. He pulled down _Letters to a Young Poet._ “It’s in German, and most of my writing is in Italian, but I want to give it to you. It’s my favorite book, and I’d get you a copy but I’m not sure they sell it in America.” 

“You’ll lose all your writing.” 

“Whatever. Take it. I’ll make that bastard child of the Beilschmidt’s buy me another when they visit Germany next, and I’ll mark that one up even more.” Antonio thanked him, sitting down beside him on the bed. Lovino touched the chain lying against his neck, and Antonio pressed his forehead to Lovino’s shoulder. 

“I don’t want to say goodbye to you.” Lovino’s vision was frosted over again. 

“So don’t,” Antonio said. “I won’t say goodbye. I’ll say, _see you later, Lovino Vargas._ And you can answer, _see you later, Antonio Fernández Carriedo_.” 

“Fernández?” 

“My father’s surname. I dropped it when we came here. And actually, I might say _see you soon_. Granted, soon might be twenty years or longer, but.” He laughed, but it trembled and he was back to hugging Lovino again. Lovino stroked his arm, closing his eyes and trying not to cry. 

“My train’s early, I should…” Antonio murmured, pulling away and drying his eyes.

“Yes, right. You should.” Lovino followed Antonio outside into the lingering savoury warmth. They walked to the back of the house where Antonio had left his bike. For a moment they stood on the gravel pavement, listening to the cicadas that had emerged to sing away the summer. 

Antonio dropped his bike and threw his arms around Lovino’s shoulders. He hugged him so hard he was lifted off his toes, and when Antonio set him down Lovino jumped up and hooked his legs around Antonio’s waist. Antonio laughed and stumbled, trying to support him. 

“You can hold Emma, you can hold me. I’m small and frail, remember?” Lovino said. 

“You’re not frail,” Antonio said. Lovino rested his face against Antonio’s neck. He wanted to stay here longer than eternity, where with Antonio’s arms around him and insectings humming. Everything about this moment deserved to be remembered. Everything. The way Antonio smelled, the feeling of his body, the distant beat of his heart. Lovino could never let a single thing go. 

But eventually Antonio had to set him down. Lovino pressed his ear to Antonio’s hear, listening to his pulse. Though it was only his imagination, it seemed weaker than usual, muffled, almost defeated. Lovino leaned back, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. Antonio touched the side of his arm. Lovino wished he hadn’t. It was so faint, so concerned. There was so much there. Too much. 

“Lovino,” Antonio whispered. 

“I don’t want you to leave me.” 

“I’ll write—”

“It’s not the same. It’s not enough. I want you here, I…” Lovino shook his head. 

“Listen,” Antonio insisted, taking his hands. “Please, listen to me.” He squeezed Lovino’s hands hard. “Someday, you’re going to fall in love. Truly. It’s like Emma said, the love of your life is out there somewhere. And they’re waiting for you to… to take their breath away. Like you did for me, and they’re… they’re going to love you so much you’ll laugh at yourself for ever thinking you no one ever would. They’ll make you believe in it like I never could.” 

Lovino sniffed, meeting his eyes in the dusty light. “They’re waiting for you. I promise. You’re going to be so happy and so in love, and one of those days, hell, maybe your wedding day, you’ll remember this and think _damn, that Antonio fellow really was the smartest person I ever met, I should have listened to him more_.” 

“I should have.” 

“No, Lovi, I’m just teasing!” Antonio said. “I’m pretty lacking in common sense, let’s not kid ourselves. It’s a very good decision that you don’t listen to me most of the time, but even a broken clock is right twice a day.” 

Lovino sniffed again and silently leaned against his chest. Antonio hugged him one last time. Then he let go.

“See you soon, Lovino.” 

“Until next time, Antonio.” 

It was dusk, but not quite dark, when Lovino kissed Antonio goodbye at the back door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this and for the comments, I appreciate them so much ❤️ 
> 
> This was a really fun, leisurely write and I hope that came across. I definitely feel the big sad about this being over right at the end of summer :( but there are more stories in store!! >:) Making content for this withering fandom will be my legacy and I'll treat it as such


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